Princes of the Earth
by Daethule
Summary: Complete! AU. The Fellowship runs across four strange Elves who have more surprises in store for them than the fact that they can control Nature…Rating for first chapter
1. The Four Princes

Alrighty, here's my first (posted) multi-chaptered story, as promised! Sorry it took so long. I know there was at least one person waiting for it. I'm not really happy with this first chapter, cuz I had to cram a lot of stuff that could have been much longer into it, and it's still rather long. But stick with it; it will get better! …..at least I think so. Maybe. AGH this is why I never posted my longer stories in the first place! haha. Anyway, it deleted all my scene dividers, so I had to go back and put "scene divider" in between the scenes (see chapter 2.) I still haven't quite figured it all out yet. (any tips or helps would be much appreciated, tho!) so without further boringness on my part….   
Princes of the Earth Chapter 1 The Four Princes 

"Behold, the newest prince of Greenwood the Great, Legolas Greenleaf!" King Thranduil announced to the full courtyard, holding up the tiny baby for all to see.

All the Elves cheered for the beautiful newest member of the Royal Family. He was very fair and had silver eyes; downy golden hair was already visible upon the miniature head. Behind the King stood the four elder princes, smiling proudly.

A banquet was held in honor of the infant prince, with much dancing and celebration. As a formal ritual for the closing of the week-long feast, Thranduil called forward his four older sons. "We must not keep this new joy to ourselves," the king began, and here all the Elves cheered again.

Telepsîr, Thranduil's eldest, knelt before him according to the ceremony, as his father laid his hands on his son's shoulders. "Telepsîr, to Lothlórien." The Crown Prince stood and moved to the side.

Next came Laurëfin, second born, and the actions were repeated with him. "Laurëfin, to Imladris." Lindil, Thranduil's third son, knelt before the king. "Lindil, to Gondor, the kingdom of Men." Lastly came Ransûl, no longer the youngest. "And Ransûl, to the Dwarves in Moria."

"Now go, my sons, and spread this news of joy to all the realms," Thranduil formally commissioned his sons. The four younger Elves bowed and headed for the stables, leaving within a few minutes with their messages, just as tradition before them had gone.

The Elves of Greenwood watched the princes gallop off, the perfect image of nobility. All four seemed almost replicas of each other, with fair hair and features, and silver eyes. Legolas was already promising to look much like them.

The elder princes were not in the least bit jealous over all the attention their youngest brother was receiving, as they knew the exact same thing had happened at each of their own births. In fact, they were delighted to have another brother to love on and help raise.

Telepsîr would help him in matters of court, Laurëfin would teach him to find beauty in all things and instruct him in the ways of nature, Lindil would teach him poetry and song and the immeasurable value of literature, and Ransûl would most likely train him to be a warrior.

Slightly outside the borders of Greenwood, the four brothers parted ways, Telepsîr and Lindil traveling together for a way, Lórien and Gondor being in the same direction; Laurëfin continued west towards the Misty Mountains and Imladris; and Ransûl adjusted his course to a south-west angle to Moria.

Though it was already past nightfall, the Greenwood princes continued until dawn, determined to quickly reach their destinations and relay the message of the new prince, so they might sooner return to him.

Scene divider!

Laurëfin trudged on beside his horse, struggling through the unusually severe weather over Caradhras. He was almost to the peak of the pass over the mountain, and hoped it would be calmer on the other side. The pass over Caradhras cut a significant bit off his journey to Rivendell, and he did not want to have to backtrack and waste time in getting there.

Finally, the Elf broke through the bad weather so suddenly it was almost as if he had passed from one side of a wall to the other. He reluctantly shrugged it off, knowing that Nature could be very unpredictable. He gave thanks for the calm weather and made haste to the Last Homely House.

Scene divider!

When Telepsîr and Lindil reached the Anduin, the elder passed over after bidding each other farewell, continuing at a slightly more westerly direction. Lindil sustained a course almost straight south, to cross the Great River when he got closer to Gondor. Neither brother had any trouble arriving at their destinations, and had soon reached them.

Scene divider!

Ransûl also had an easy—though rather dull—journey to his goal, Moria. He was spared the trouble of crossing over the Mountains, entering instead by the East Gate.

Out of all of Thranduil's sons, Ransûl was the most tolerable of the dark and underground, and had therefore volunteered to be the one to go to the Dwarves.

At this time, the animosity that would eventually grow between the Elves and Dwarves had not yet come to pass, and the two races were still considered allies.

Therefore, Durin's people welcomed Ransûl with their famed "Dwarven hospitality" and upon learning that he was a prince of Greenwood, he was immediately shown to Durin himself.

There, Ransûl regally delivered his message.

"A new son born to the Elvenking! This is cause for celebration indeed!" Durin cried. Most anything in those days was cause for celebration to Durin's folk. "Come, my friend, we shall find a gift worthy of the little princeling!" He laughed and led the Elf from the room.

Hours were spent showing Ransûl the wonders of the underground mine, including the _mithril_ mines themselves. Finally Durin led him to a great store room, or "treasure chamber" as the Dwarf called it, with myriads of finished products inside, mostly made from _mithril_.

After searching for a short while, Durin produced a small _mithril_ corslet, nearly half the size of what would have fit Ransûl. "For the new prince. He'll grow into it eventually," Durin smiled.

It was absolutely beautiful, worthy of the skill of the Dwarves. Its collar was studded with diamonds and sparkling white gemstones, and the jacket itself was of the impenetrable _mithril_ rings. Ransûl thanked him graciously, praising the excellent craftsmanship.

"I will have it properly wrapped and secured to your horse," the Dwarf-lord said, beaming at the praise. He called forward a nearby Dwarf and had him carry out the orders.

Turning back to the Elf, Durin asked, "Will his highness be staying the night? I plan a feast in the young prince's honor."

Ransûl bowed deeply, but replied, "That is most gracious of you, my lord, but I must be on my way home. I am most eager to see my brother again." He smiled at the thought of the little baby.

Durin laughed jovially, clapping the Elf on his back. "Ah, I have almost forgotten what it is like to have a child running around." He laughed again.

Ransûl followed him out of the great storeroom, the two soon coming to a stone bridge spanning the length of the abyss below. The two paused as a thunderous rumbling was suddenly heard, and several Dwarves came running toward them.

"My lord!" cried one to Durin. "We were working on one of the mines above and it collapsed! The whole thing is coming down!"

As if on cue, another loud rumbling was heard, and boulder-sized pieces of rock from above, under too much pressure from the cave-in to stay in place, came crashing down right at the opposite end of the bridge from where Ransûl and the Dwarves stood.

The miner Dwarves took off running again whiled Durin stood still in surprise. There came another great crack, and Ransûl pushed the Dwarf-lord to the unblocked end of the bridge, not a second too early. Having no time to get back across himself, the Elf could only jump back as another mass of boulders fell in front of him.

Eyes widening in disbelief, Ransûl realized he was quite trapped unless he could somehow climb over the giant rocks blocking his path.

Before he could do this, however, there was a loud crack as of stone breaking, and he realized with a start that the bridge was collapsing from beneath him. It was not as large or sturdy as most of the other bridges, being rarely used and not built for large loads.

Durin had snapped out of his surprise and called to the trapped Elf. "Come on, hurry! We must get out of here!"

Ransûl took a hold of the boulder set between him and safety, preparing to climb over, but before he could, the cracking came again, the bridge straining under so much weight. A great rumbling shook the entire cavern, loosening the bridge's last support. It collapsed, taking all upon it down with it. Durin cried out in alarm as the Elf prince and pieces of the bridge fell into the yawning abyss below, soon lost to his sight.

Ransûl knew there was nothing to save him now, that he would keep falling and falling until…what? Falling was such an odd sensation, he thought; almost like flying, only downwards and with no control.

He had certainly fallen a few times in his long life, from the occasional tree, or when he was an Elfling and was continually jumping off incredible heights and getting injured, worrying his father sick. Ransûl always had been the adventurous one.

But he knew that this time there would be no simple recovery. He was doomed to die, and he knew it.

Ransûl did not know for how long he fell, but it seemed an eternity, even to an Elf. Yet he refused to cry out, though he much longed too, for he knew it would no good. Falling…falling…falling…

He found himself thinking over all the pranks and mischief he had caused, and all the good and bad memories of the past. There was the time he had climbed his first tree, with nearly disastrous results; when he wielded his first sword and almost lopped off Telepsîr's arm, on accident, of course; when he first fired a bow, almost hitting Laurëfin, also an accident; Lindil teaching him how to sing, which he was actually not very good at, to Elven standards; his first hunting trip; the time he got caught outside in a sever rain storm; the first time he had seen snow and had stayed outside playing with it till his fingers were frozen; horseracing with his friends; his father's smile, his mother's embrace, Telepsîr's patience, Laurëfin's laughter, Lindil's songs and poetry, and Legolas's beautiful eyes.

Ransûl thought about the future, about how he would not get to see Legolas grow, to see him wield a bow, a sword, never get to hear him sing, or ride a horse, or come home proudly showing off his first hunted game. Legolas would not even remember him.

Ransûl felt a small tear slip down his cheek and immediately be pulled away as he still fell. "I am sorry, Legolas." He closed his bright silver eyes and darkness claimed him.

Scene divider!

Laurëfin smiled as the hidden valley of Imladris finally came into view. Within the hour, he entered the gates of the fair Elven realm, and had a nearby servant send for Lord Elrond.

In no time Elrond appeared with his wife Celebrían and greeted him formerly. Laurëfin dismounted and responded likewise. "Lord Elrond, my lady Celebrían, I bring a message from my father, King Thranduil." He smiled excitedly. "The King wishes his allies to know of a great happening in the Greenwood—the birth of a new prince to the Royal Family."

The Lord and Lady of Imladris congratulated Laurëfin; although having no children of their own yet, they were still happy for the King.

"And what is the name of the little prince?" Celebrían asked.

"Legolas," Laurëfin answered with the pride a brother could possess. Celebrían remarked that it was a lovely name and excused herself to prepare for a feast that night in honor of the prince, as was the custom.

Elrond invited Laurëfin to walk with him to the prince's guest chambers that were always kept ready for cases like this, which he did after quickly entrusting his horse to a stable hand.

"How long will you be staying?" Elrond asked politely as the other Elf set down his small traveling pack.

"I believe I shall only stay this night, if it pleases my lord," Laurëfin replied, not wanting to offend his host.

"Very well. I shall send someone to fetch you for the feast tonight, if you plan on attending?" Laurëfin nodded and bowed as Elrond left.

Scene divider!

That night a great feast was held in Legolas's honor, followed by stories and music for the remainder of the night in the Hall of Fire. Laurëfin retired early, wishing to set out at dawn for home.

The following morning, the prince was securing the last of his things on his horse, along with the gifts of jewels and such for the new prince.

Elrond and Celebrían watched as he prepared to depart. "Are you certain you do not wish to stay longer? Imladris would be glad for your prolonged company," Celebrían asked. Laurëfin smiled, but politely refused. Seeing he was ready, he bowed to each of them again and mounted his horse.

Before he could go, Elrond stopped him with the question, "Which path will you be returning by?"

"The same by which I came—over Caradhras. It saves much time," the Wood-Elf replied.

"Be careful," Elrond warned. "That mountain has been treacherous to travelers lately."

"Worry not for me, my lord," Laurëfin replied. "I came over him with little enough difficulty." He nodded politely. "I thank you for your hospitality, and shall be sure to send your well-wishes to my father and brothers." He placed his hand over his heart and swept it outwards. "Namárië."

"Namárië," they replied, and watched as he trotted out through the gates.

Scene divider!

Laurëfin was nearly halfway up the mountain when the savage weather struck again. Wind was whipping everywhere—in his eyes, nose, mouth, and anywhere uncovered. But it was not yet dangerous and visibility was still relatively good, so he pressed on. Perhaps he was about to break through the worst of the storm, as with the first time. Laurëfin had long dismounted to easier guide his weary horse through the storm by holding a hand under its jaw, having no reins.

Contrary to his hopes of breaking through the storm, it only intensified the higher the Elf went. Laurëfin considered turning back, but he was already at the halfway point, and decided it was worth it to keep going to save the extra travel time.

Lightning suddenly split the sky and hit the peak above with a deafening crack. A small cascade of rocks rained down, but the Elf and horse hid under a miniature outcropping.

The jagged white light came again and struck the ground barely a few feet from where the two stood. The horse's eyes bulged in fright and he reared back, escaping Laurëfin's grasp. "Anroch!" the Elf cried as the horse took off running in the direction they had come from, thunder rumbling angrily after him. A few moments later there was a whinny of terror interrupted by one of pain.

Laurëfin started, but scarcely had he taken five steps in the direction his mount had gone when there was a great creaking and groaning from above. Startled, he glanced up, and saw the whole side of the mountain above him shift and start to fall.

The Elf gasped and started to run over the thinly packed snow as thunder growled again and the avalanche of snow quickly closed in on him. He caught sight of Anroch lying on his side ahead and shouted to him, but his voice was caught up by the wind and carried away.

In another instant the great fall of snow was upon him, slamming into him and carrying him a way before finally settling.

When Laurëfin's mind had cleared somewhat, he forced his eyes open to see white everywhere. He tried to bring up his arms to push away the snow before him, but quickly realized that he could not move at all without a great deal of effort.

He was trapped.

Laurëfin realized he was probably somewhere near the base of all the snow, judging by the weight crushing down on him, and its density. He cursed himself for being so careless as to get caught by an avalanche, and for not having backtracked earlier.

The prince tried to push up and break through, but it was hopeless. Neither could he dig his way through, for it was nearly impossible to move as it was. He briefly considered shouting for help, but quickly discarded that idea. Even if somebody else was on the mountain, which he doubted, they would never be able to hear his voice above the wind and beneath the snow.

Laurëfin wondered if his body heat could melt the snow around him. Unlikely. Could Elves die from freezing? He did not know. He had never been told they could, but he had never actually been told they could not, either. He had never thought to ask, but now he did not doubt it. Already he could feel the numbing effects of the cold coming upon him.

The prince wondered what others would do in his case. Thranduil probably would have melted the snow long ago with his boiling temper, he reflected with a smile; Ransûl would probably do as he was now; Telepsîr, being the eldest brother and wisest, would probably have not even been in this situation in the first place; Lindil would likely just laugh and tell him to use his mouth for something useful and eat through it. That thought made Laurëfin laugh slightly, but he did not even attempt it.

He tried to shake his head to disperse the dimness that had settled in his vision, but it persisted. With a start, he realized something else. He was running out of air. The snow around him was so densely packed that what little amount of breathable air that might have gotten through was not nearly enough.

Laurëfin calmed his panicked breathing and cursed himself again. he slowly but surely forced his arms above his head, and gradually attempted to push some of the crushing force away. After a while his movements grew more lethargic and slow, having accomplished next to nothing. It had been hopeless from the beginning, but he had to try.

The darkness edging Laurëfin's vision was steadily growing. He suddenly thought of his family—his parents and his brothers he would be leaving behind, for surely there was no hope for him now. He thought of Thranduil, his stern but loving father; Dúlinwen, his gentle, caring mother; Telepsîr, his wise and respected brother, the Crown Prince; Lindil, the one who found beauty in everything; Ransûl, the adventurous one of the four…well, five now; and lastly, little Legolas, who did not exactly have much of a personality yet.

Unbeknownst to him, his thoughts were much the same as Ransûl's during the last moments of his life.

Laurëfin noted the growing heaviness in his limbs and eyelids, and he yearned for sleep. As much as he knew he had to, he could not fight it for long, and as he stood there, gasping for breath, eyes dim, he whispered "Legolas," and fell asleep.

Scene divider!

Lindil nodded politely to the guards at the Gate of Osgiliath as he entered. Another guard was sent ahead to announce the Prince to King Elendil.

The Elf made his way to the large of Osgiliath, riding straight and tall as people stared at him and whispered among themselves. The palace was a sizeable structure of white stone, as was the rest of the city, surrounded by expansive gardens on three sides. It stood in the center of the city, right on the waterfront of the Anduin. Lindil took special note of a beautiful white tree that grew in the center of the palace courtyard.

Lindil left his horse in the courtyard, promising to be right back, then followed the guard that had been sent ahead inside. The king was waiting in his private meeting room, designed especially for meetings such as these with other kings and lords. The two bowed formally to each other. Elendil offered the Elf a seat, but he politely refused and remained standing. The king bid him speak.

"My lord," Lindil replied, "I bring a message from my lord King Thranduil. He wishes his allies to be informed of the birth of his new son, Legolas Greenleaf."

Elendil smiled and congratulated, having feared that it was some grave news the prince bore, and sent a servant to find an appropriate gift. Then he asked Lindil if he would be staying long so he could have quarters prepared, but the Elf replied that he would only be staying long enough to rest his horse.

The Human king invited him to sup with him, which Lindil accepted. The meal was exquisite, with only the finest meats, breads, and fruits. Lindil ate only enough, to satisfy his host, wondering if his horse had yet been fed.

When Elendil pushed back his chair from the table, Lindil stood and bowed, saying, "My lord, you are most gracious to suffer me for such a superb meal, but I must away. My kingdom is far from here and I wish to be there by the end of the week."

The two exchanged formal farewells, after which a servant showed the Elf prince out. Another servant presented him at the door with a wrapped package for the new prince. Lindil informed him to give his thanks to the king, and, securing the package on his horse, jumped onto its bare back, and was off. In a few minutes he was outside of the city and back in open country.

About an hour later, he slowed his horse to a walk so it could rest. Lindil retrieved a small harp from where it had been safely bundled up, tied to his horse, and started playing a tune. His fair voice could be heard far over the land as it was raised in his own Elven song.

After a while he urged his horse back into a trot, anxious to get home. He was impatient for news of his brothers and their own quests, and most of all wished to be with Legolas again. Lindil could not wait till the babe learned to speak, for, as far as he was concerned, that was nearly old enough to sing.

Nothing could dampen the mood of Thranduil's son, even when dark rain clouds rolled in overhead, soon pouring down their contents upon him. He simply made sure all his provisions were safe and dry, and slowed his horse to a more careful pace.

By now it had grown quite dark and Lindil finally halted his horse at the first copse of trees he came across, well within sight of the Anduin. He considered crossing the mighty river that night before it was possible swollen from the rain, but decided it would be more dangerous in the dark than to wait. He would cross it in the morning.

Lindil leapt up into the thick boughs of a large tree after making sure his horse was as dry and comfortable as possible, and settled down on a thick branch with his back against the trunk. The leaves above provided adequate protection against the downpour, but still they moved closer together, overjoyed to have a Wood-Elf in their care.

The next morning was nearly as dark as the precious night, for all the grey clouds were pouring rain. Lindil woke and was off again barely a minute later. He had to travel slower than he liked, however, due to the muddy, slippery ground.

An hour later, Lindil stared in dismay at the swollen Anduin, its banks overflowing due to the heavy storm. How would he cross? It would be nearly impossible. He turned his horse upstream, hoping to find a more shallow and slow-flowing spot for easier crossing.

After another half hour, he came to a small bend in the river that was not as deep or wide. Lindil pondered his options. On the one hand, he could cross here, in shallow water where his horse could probably touch the bottom if he held his head high; on the other, he could continue possible several leagues upstream to where the rains perhaps had not reached.

Lindil decided to take his chances where he was, for following the river would mean much lost time while he could be cutting straight across country. The Elf flung his packs across his shoulders to keep them dry and urged his horse into the water. Immediately, the great current pushed at them, causing the horse to strain to stay upright and not be swept away.

Halfway across, the horse could barely keep its head above the icy waters, its hoofs barely scraping the riverbed. There suddenly came an ominous crack from just upriver, then a loud splash. A large, rotten old tree was swept around the bend, heading straight for the two at a tremendous speed.

In an instant, Lindil was swept off his horse, gasping as he was submerged in the freezing waters for a moment. He quickly gained his senses and swam for the shore. As soon as his feet found steady ground, he turned back and called for his horse, which was gradually moving toward his master, trying to find purchase on the river bottom.

Just as the horse came within arms reach of Lindil, another sharp crack of thunder was heard almost straight overhead. The poor horse reared in fright, pawing excitedly at the air. "Calendal, no!" Lindil moved forward to calm the horse, but at that moment Calendal fell back forward, inadvertently bringing one of his hooves crashing down on the Elf's head.

Lindil was dimly aware of falling back into the water as a large bloody gash appeared on his brow. Darkness neared as he unconsciously breathed in water. 'I am going to drown!' he suddenly realized, too dazed by the blow to move. With that last thought, he was swallowed by the dark waters of the Anduin.

Scene divider!

Telepsîr readied his horse to depart again Lothlórien after his two-day stay in the Golden Woods. Celeborn and Galadriel, Lord and Lady of the Wood, had been most pleased to hear the news of Legolas, for the birth of an Elven child was rare and treasured, even in those days.

Telepsîr finished with his horse, and stepped toward the lord and lady, bowing deeply. Galadriel smiled warmly at the prince as he thanked them fir their hospitality. Leaning forward, she gently kissed his brow, watching in amusement as he blushed. "Safe journey, Prince Telepsîr," Celeborn said.

Telepsîr bowed again then mounted his horse, starting off at a trot through the woods. "Safe journey," Galadriel repeated in a murmur. As soon as the prince was out of sight, she addressed Celeborn without moving her eyes from the last place she had seen Telepsîr, brow furrowed. "I fear for him," she said. "Something grave has happened, I believe, and is yet to."

Celeborn stared at her for a moment, wondering if perhaps she had seen something in her Mirror. "Orcs have been sighted between here and Greenwood," the Lady continued.

"He had no trouble arriving here. Do not worry so," Celeborn soothed. "The prince is more than capable of defending himself."

Scene divider!

Indeed, nearly the first half of Telepsîr's journey home passed quite uneventfully, for which he was thankful. Uneventful meant not dangerous.

The Crow Prince occupied himself mostly by thinking of home and everyone there. His responsibilities as the oldest son of Thranduil could not be put off much longer. He wondered if Legolas had grown or changed any while he was gone. He wondered what latest misadventure Ransûl was up to, or if Laurëfin had finished his new bow, or if Lindil had composed a new song, or if they were even back home yet.

Telepsîr halted at a small stream to allow his horse to rest and drink. He dismounted and stepped into the stream, letting the cool waters bathe his dusty feet, boots and all. A few minutes later, his eyes snapped open, not even aware that they had been closed, to the rapidly growing sense of danger nearby.

Telepsîr quickly but carefully studied his surroundings, noting the position he was in. He was in the middle of a small valley of sorts, with gently sloping borders and tress lining each side. He warily made sure his weapons were secure and ready for use, then turned back to his horse.

Just at that moment, inhumane screeches filled all the valley, echoing eerily as they were amplified, and dozens of Orcs came rushing down at him. Telepsîr knew it was almost always wisest to avoid a confrontation with danger whenever possible, especially when alone, and had nearly mounted his horse when he saw more Orcs storming down at him from the opposite end of the valley, completely surrounding him. How had he not noticed them before?

No use bothering with the "how's" just then, Telepsîr knew, as he pulled out his bow and an arrow and shot one of the approaching Orcs. He almost smiled to himself when it fell dead with a screech, only making its companions angrier. Telepsîr had always been the best warrior in his family, besides his father, having a few hundred years advantage over his brothers, and was much respected throughout Greenwood for his talents in fighting.

When the Orcs came too close for a bow, he slung it back over his shoulder and unsheathed his long, white sword. He was now completely surrounded, but did not let the foul creatures close enough to him to wound him.

The Orc bodies piled at the Elf's feet, and still he continued. A shooting pain erupted in his left arm, and he risked a quick glance down to see the protruding arrow. Disposing of the two Orcs closest to him, he had the Orc archer in his sights and felled with an arrow faster than mortal eye could see.

The pain in his arm only intensified when he fired his bow, but he had no time to pull out the arrow and stop the bleeding. A few minutes later the Orcs' original number was greatly diminished, but Telepsîr was growing tired.

Another sharp _twang_ was heard, and he turned to face the direction from which it had come. A large black arrow slammed into his right shoulder. He almost fell under the force of the blow, but forbade himself from doing so. If he fell, he did not know if he could rise again, then all would be lost.

Before Telepsîr could gain his bearings again, a fiery pain erupted across his back, and he turned on instinct and killed the Orc that had slashed him with its scimitar.

Telepsîr managed to kill three more Orcs before they finally overwhelmed him and wrested away his sword. Still he punched one in the face hard enough to shatter its deformed nose and hopefully kill it. Pulled to the ground, he struggled and kicked under their rough grasps until a dirty black blade was pressed against his throat. A few of the beasts had already slaughtered his horse, though not without a fight on the poor animal's part, and had dragged it off, likely to eat it.

The prince glared up at his foes as one reach for the arrow in his shoulder. It roughly pulled at the projectile at an angle, only causing more harm as it was pulled out, but Telepsîr bit his lip harshly to keep the cry of pain from escaping. The same was repeated with the arrow in his arm.

Telepsîr sent them a glare that could have melted ice, but the one holding the blade to his neck only grinned in response. It snarled something in its harsh tongue, making the Elf wish he could cover his ears, and several of the Orcs produced short, black knives.

The Orc holding the long scimitar, apparently the leader, took a step back, moving the weapon from his throat. Telepsîr immediately attempted to jump up, but the Orc had naturally foreseen this action and quickly drove the scimitar through his unharmed arm. Telepsîr gave a strangled cry as the weapon roughly slid through his flesh and pinned him to the ground.

The other few Orcs acted as if on cue and clawed and slashed at his arms until they were little more than a bloody mass. Though the pain was blinding, Telepsîr kicked out at whatever was within reach, until one of the beats drove a long knife into his leg, slightly above the knee. Excruciating pain shot up and down his leg every time he moved in the slightest.

The Orc leader raised his scimitar, and with one stroke, had sliced off one of the Elf's ears. Blood poured freely from the wound. Telepsîr brought up a bloody hand to the injury, but the Orc only impaled it on his blade, roughly yanking it free.

Telepsîr cried out and felt close to tears, but refused them. He felt sick from all the pain and wondered why he was even still conscious.

After a while the Orcs seemed to have had enough sport, and, stabbing him one last time through the stomach, left him to die. Telepsîr watched as they started to move off, dimly following their movements with glazed eyes. The leader suddenly stopped and turned back to look at him, as if making a decision. Finally it returned, and in those few moments it took to close the distance between the two, Telepsîr thought of many things.

He mentally bid his brothers farewell, thinking of tiny Legolas who would now never know him. He would miss out on his little brother's entire childhood, entire life, and all the small enjoyments of watching him into a proper prince. He was suddenly filled with an uncontainable rage toward these creatures that had taken all that away from him.

But he could do nothing about it now. He sent a quick prayer to the Valar will all his remaining will, to keep Legolas safe and for him to grow and be might and wise, and to remember his oldest brother.

A single tear slipped out from his unfocused eyes to trail down his bloodied face. Then he turned his silver gaze to the calm blue sky and time seemed to fade as he found peace within it.

By now the Orc had reached him.

It took the Elf's own long, white blade and raised it above his head. Then, with all its strength, drove it straight into Telepsîr's heart.

Scene divider!

Yes, they all died. MWAHAHAHAHA!

Aight. I could have been a lot happier with this chapter, but decided to just post it and get it over with. Haha. Ok, a couple things. **(1)** Personally, I don't think that Legolas had any brothers. But hey, it makes a good story. **(2)** I never really took the time to educate myself on the complete Dwarven history, so I'm not sure where they were at this approximate time. They probably weren't in Moria, and Durin probably wasn't alive, but I had to do it this way to fit the story. You'll see. (although if you want to tell me the complete Dwarven history, that's fine with me. I would even appreciate it, though the story will not be corrected.) **(3)** Yes, I am aware that Gandalf did not die in Moria because of the fall, and Ransûl did. Just assume that he got banged up on the way down, or got crushed by one of the boulders or something, or was in a different section of Moria altogether and didn't exactly land in the water. Use your imagination. **(4)** If you were wondering about the part where I said how Telepsîr punched the Orc in the nose and hopefully killed it, and how punching somebody in the nose can kill them, it is true. If you hit a person's nose hard enough to shatter it, and just the right way, the pieces can go up into their brain and kill them. Yay!

Forgot the disclaimer. Don't own, don't wanna. Imagine the fangirls! (runs screaming)


	2. The Fifth Prince

Dumb scene dividers! I think I will have to resort to using a word or something instead of just figures. I hate to do this, but I have to try "scene divider" (stupid, I know…but hopefully it will work.) I'm sorry if it disrupts the flow of the story, but I don't know what else to do unless someone tells me how to make them work…and the bolds and italics, too! Curse them all!

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 2

The Fifth Prince

A small party of Elves waited at the border of Greenwood. They were to escort the four princes back to the palace at the end of the week, but so far there had been no sight of the royals.

Finally around dusk they noticed a small speck on the horizon that was soon identified as a galloping horse. As it drew nearer, they saw it was riderless but bore traveling packs. It galloped right up to them and halted, breathing hard.

"This is Prince Ransûl's horse!" one of the Elves identified. "What are you doing here? Where is your master?" The great horse just shook his head and lowered it. "Something has happened to the Prince!" the Elf deduced. "His mount would not just leave him."

Two of the escort were appointed to return to the palace and tell the king of what had happened. They immediately set out, accompanied by Ransûl's horse, which refused to be left behind.

Scene divider!

The next morning Thranduil was working in his study when a servant knocked urgently on the closed door. The king called for him to enter, which he did, and bowed hastily. "My lord, two of the escort for the princes just arrived with pressing news," the Elf said.

Thranduil leapt up and hurried down to the courtyard, where the two messenger Elves would be waiting. The two bowed to their king as he hastened into the courtyard, but he did not notice. His eyes were fixed instead on the horse standing directly behind them, which he recognized immediately as belonging to Ransûl. Thranduil already feared the worst. "Where is my son?"

One of the Elves stepped forward and bowed again. "My lord, we were waiting at the border as you ordered, but so far none of the princes have arrived. Then last night Prince Ransûl's horse came, without a rider, but no sign of harm."

Thranduil was becoming increasingly alarmed. No Elven horse would simply leave its rider on a whim. He had a nearby Elf take the horse into the stables and make it comfortable. Then he ordered the two messengers to start a search between the border and Moria until they found the prince. They bowed and left, quickly heading back to the border.

Thranduil went back to his study, falling ungracefully into his chair. What had happened to Ransûl? And for that matter, why had Telepsîr, Laurëfin, and Lindil not yet returned, either? They should have been home by now. Perhaps they were simply delayed…

The Elvenking was disturbed from his thoughts as another knock came on his door, and a stablehand entered a moment later upon permission of the king. He bowed and held a package forward for the king to take. "Forgive, my lord, but this was on Prince Ransûl's horse. I thought you might want to see it."

Thranduil immediately seized the package and sent the Elf away. Quickly unwrapping it, hoping for some clue as to his son's whereabouts, he was surprised to find a small, shining corslet of _mithril_ and gems, clearly the work of the Dwarves. He stared at in surprise for a moment. A gift for Legolas, no doubt, thought it would not fit him for some time yet.

'At least now I know he even made it to Moria,' Thranduil thought, murmuring a quick prayer for the safety of his sons. He could do little else now.

Scene divider!

Two days later, Thranduil had still not heard anything from the search party or from his three older sons, and was growing ever more worried. The king was currently sitting in Legolas's room, watching as the tiny babe slept. It always had a calming affect on him.

A soft knock came on the door, knowing the prince was likely asleep, but Thranduil ignored it. It came again a short while later, slightly louder, and an Elf maiden entered after a few moments.

"My lord…" she began quietly, but Thranduil still gave no sign of hearing her. "A messenger has come from Moria. He says he bears news of the prince."

Scarcely had she finished then Thranduil was up and out of the room. He rushed to his chamber where he met with guests and messengers, scarcely taking the time to smooth his hair and robes before entering.

There stood a stout Dwarf fully clad in armor, though he had removed his helmet out of respect. Elf and Dwarf nodded to each other, and immediately cut to the point. "You bring news of my son?"

"Aye. I bring word from Lord Durin. He regrets to inform you that your son is dead."

"Dead?" Thranduil repeated in shock, falling heavily into his chair. "When? H-how?"

"Not yet five days ago," the Dwarf answered. "There was a cave-in and he fell…into the darkness. My lord wished you to know that the prince saved his life."

Thranduil just sat and stared blankly. Ransûl was dead…dead…and Valar only knew what had happened to his other sons.

"We would have sent word earlier," the Dwarf continued, trying to ignore the king's open show of emotion, "but the prince's horse ran off when we tried to come near him, and had to send a messenger by foot."

Thranduil nodded dumbly. The Dwarf began to look uncomfortable. A servant Elf came forward and quietly led him away to guest chambers where he could stay the night.

Dead…The word reverberated through Thranduil's mind. He rose and fled to his private chambers, where he wept long for his fallen son.

Scene divider!

Two weeks passed. Word had spread like wildfire of Ransûl's death and the whole kingdom was in mourning. There was still no sign of the three older princes.

Thranduil had shut himself up in Legolas's room, refusing to come out for anything, as if afraid of losing his youngest son also. He did not eat and rarely slept, just sat and stared at the prince.

Finally he lost all hope of his sons' return and cracked. He wept for hours on end, Legolas watching with large silver eyes from where he lay. Thranduil grabbed up his son and hugged the tiny baby to his chest, holding on to him as if to a last lifeline. Legolas did not protest, just reached up with an un-cooperating hand to touch his father's wet face.

Thranduil gave a watery smile and only hugged him closer. "Oh, Legolas…" he breathed. "Without you, I would surely be lost." And they stayed that way for a long time.

Scene divider!

Several years later, a young Legolas watched from his balcony as an Elfling played with his older brother. Legolas did not know what it was like to have a brother, and did not even know he used to have four. No one had told him, as he was till too young to understand the concept of death.

No sign of Telepsîr, Laurëfin, or Lindil had ever been found, and after a long while, everyone had eventually given up on them.

Legolas suddenly made up his mind and headed for his father's study. He entered silently, noting his father was working, and soundlessly waited in a chair for his father to notice him.

After a few moments, Thranduil glanced up, sensing another presence in the room, and visibly started when he saw Legolas. It always startled him, as the child was an almost perfect replica of his brothers when they were Legolas's age.

"Did you need something, son?" Thranduil asked when Legolas just stared silently at him. The child had always been unnaturally quiet, crying rarely when he was little, and first speaking at a late age. Thranduil never figured out why, as his four older sons had been the exact opposite.

"I…" Legolas paused as if considering whether he should speak at all, but at an encouraging smile from Thranduil, continued. "I want a brother."

Thranduil tried unsuccessfully to hide a wince at the unexpected question, but hoped Legolas would not notice. He doubted it, though, as Legolas had sharp eyes and was keen on observing things others missed.

The king forced a smile, coming to a painful decision. He had known this day would come eventually, but he had hoped it would not come so soon. "It is about time you knew something." Legolas just stared up at him with his wide silver eyes as Thranduil took his hand and led him from the room.

"Well, at one time you did have brothers—four of them," Thranduil began as they walked down the hallway. "But they left when you were very young."

"Why?" came Legolas's predicted response.

"I do not know, ion nin, but they had to." Thranduil sighed.

"Where?"

"To the Halls of Mandos."

"Where is that?"

"It is where people go when they…die." Thranduil had tried to avoid that word, as it would be hard to explain.

"What is die?"

They paused and Thranduil knelt down so he could be closer to eye level with his son. He took Legolas's small hand and placed it on his own chest. "Feel that?" Legolas nodded. "That is my heart moving. When it stops moving, you die, and go to the Halls of Mandos."

"Oh. And you never get to see your family again?" Leoglas asked with wide, comprehending eyes.

"Not until they die also," Thranduil replied, throat constricting.

"Then I never want to die, because I will have to leave you," Legolas declared.

Thranduil smiled and stood. He was glad Legolas had seemed to grasp the concept of death, and he did not have to elaborate. Death was hard to explain, as most grown Elves could not totally understand it themselves.

"Where are we going?" Legolas asked after a short while.

"Remember those four rooms Ada says you must never go in?" Thranduil asked. Legolas nodded. "Those were your brothers' rooms. We are going to see them."

Finally they reached the princes' old bedrooms and Thranduil unlocked the first one. "This was your brother Ransûl's room. He was the youngest before you came."

Legolas looked all around the room with wide eyes, observing everything from the various weapons hanging on the walls, to the papers scattered on the writing desk in the far corner. Not a thing had been moved since the last time Ransûl had been there years ago.

Thranduil, meanwhile, was trying not to look at anything, lest he lose control over his emotions. Talking about his dead sons had been extremely painful, now he was being reminded of them in an agonizing way.

Legolas looked up and noted his father's expression. "Do you miss them very much, Ada?" Thranduil nodded and gave a small smile. "But you still have me, Ada. I promise I will never die and leave you here alone."

The king smiled again and held his son in his arms. "Thank you, Legolas. That is very kind of you."

"We do not have to go on if you do not want to, Ada," Legolas allowed.

"Alright," Thranduil agreed. In truth, he did not know if he could stand to see Lindil, Laurëfin, and Telepsîr's rooms also. Instead he carried Legolas to his own room, which was actually the next room over from Telepsîr's, and set him down on the huge bed.

The kind unlocked a large chest of drawers and bid Legolas to come nearer. "When your mother knew she was expecting you, your brothers made you these, planning to give them to you when you were old enough."

Legolas peered in, his eyes widening in wonder. There, lying neatly in the bottom of the drawer, which was barely even large enough to hold them, were several beautiful weapons, crafted by the four brothers themselves. Thranduil explained what was from whom.

There was a long, thin, curved sword from Telepsîr, the eldest; a quiver, complete with delicate carvings and full of arrows from Laurëfin, second eldest; a dark bow with golden etchings, the companion of the quiver, from Lindil, the middle son; and a pair of long white knives from Ransûl. Everything except the knives was longer than Legolas was tall, and even the knives came close.

The little prince reached a hand forward to touch the beautiful weapons, but Thranduil gently pushed it back. "Do not touch. You might get hurt." Legolas gave a disappointed look, and Thranduil almost laughed aloud. "Do not worry, ion. I shall give them to you when you are old enough." 'And strong enough to even lift them,' he added wryly to himself.

Legolas promised himself that from then on, he would make himself worthy to bear the weapons his brothers had made for him, and make them proud.

Scene divider!

Legolas was eventually told everything anybody knew about his brothers and the events surrounding their deaths, as nobody actually knew what happened to them, with the exception of Ransûl. Legolas felt terribly guilty over what had happened, as he felt it was his fault in an indirect way. But he told no one, as he prone to hiding his feelings, afraid to burden anyone.

The young prince started training with weapons at a very early age, and soon showed remarkable skill. Yet he refused to even touch his brothers' weapons until he considered himself worthy, and instead crafted his own.

Legolas very rarely left Greenwood, which was partially due to his father's over protectiveness, for fear of losing his last remaining son; but mainly, Legolas himself had no desire to travel. If he did, it was always to Rivendell or Lothlórien, and he loathed going even there. He felt that everybody stared oddly at him, as if blaming him for his brothers' deaths.

When the Shadow started growing over Greenwood, Legolas fought against the increasing dark forces, soon proving himself as a capable warrior and great leader of the entire army.

After his first successful battle as leader, in which he drove the dark forces back to Dol Guldur, Thranduil presented Legolas with the weapons the four older princes had made. Legolas accepted them and fought with them in every following battle, bearing them proudly.

The Shadow ever grew in Greenwood despite the Elves' valiant efforts, and Men started referring to it as Mirkwood. Monstrous spiders and other fell beasts started appearing near the southern border, and the trees there grew dark and evil. But where Thranduil's realm was maintained, all was still light and magnificent as ever.

Legolas remained as faithful as ever to battle, yearning to see his kingdom restored to its former beauty. In one such battle, the Elves were nearing victory as they slaughtered and pushed back the Orcs. Legolas hacked his way through his foes, occasionally using an arrow when needed, moving with a frightening grace.

The prince had just gutted an Orc, succeeding in getting covered with black blood, when he turned just in time to receive a large, black arrow full in the chest. He was thrown back to a tree by the force of the impact, and wearily slid down its trunk until he was sitting on the ground.

Legolas studied the arrow imbedded in him for a moment, trying to regain his bearings as time slowed. He looked up to find the Orc that had shot him, but instead of an Orc, he saw something else.

Standing in front of him, several meters off, was a figure cloaked all in silver, a dim grey in the shadow of the woods, the hood pulled low over its face, hiding its features. Immediately, the burning pain in Legolas's chest lessened to a dull throb, and he glanced down in stupefied amazement. When he looked up again a moment later, the figure was gone.

Legolas pushed it from his mind for the moment, struggling to stand, as he knew he was now at the mercy of any Orcs that came along. But instead, and Elf suddenly appeared at his side, or so it seemed to him, and gasped when he saw the wound.

The Elf quickly lifted the injured prince, supporting most of his weight. "Come, my lord, we must get you some help."

"No," Legolas murmured, trying weakly to pull away. "The battle…"

"All the Orcs are retreating, my lord! They all just stopped fighting as if they had received an order to do so!"

Legolas slumped in relief at this news. The pain from the arrow increased again to almost unbearable, and he blearily looked around him before darkness claimed him.

Scene divider!

When next Legolas woke, he was back in his own bed at the palace, a thick bandage wrapped securely around his chest. There was still a dull throbbing present, and he dimly wondered how long it had been.

Thranduil entered just then, bearing a small tray of food, and smiled when he saw his son awake. "Aldamîr said you would be waking soon," he explained, setting the tray down on the small table beside the bed. "How do you feel?"

"Fine. It aches a bit, but other than that it is alright." Legolas accepted the glass of water his father offered him. "How long have I been asleep?"

"A little over a day." Thranduil smiled slightly. "You had me worried."

Legolas returned the smile slightly. "When may I return to my post?"

Thranduil did not know whether to laugh or throttle his son, so he just sighed. "Legolas, you have been too…devoted…to the guard and patrol. I think you need a rest from it for a while."

"But, Ada!" Legolas immediately objected, wincing as his wound protested. "They need me out there! I—"

"Legolas, no. Only for a couple of weeks. You need to heal anyway." Legolas knew when not to argue when his father had made up his mind, and this was one of those times.

Thranduil almost laughed at his son's resigned look. "Rest, son, and do not get out of bed before Aldamîr gives you permission."

Legolas stayed in bed most of the following week, despite his insistencies of being fine. On his eighth day of inactivity, he wandered aimlessly through the palace, wishing to be back out on patrol. Recently, their prisoner Sméagol, whom the Wizard Mithrandir had entrusted to them, had escaped during a battle with the Orcs. Legolas wished he had been there, for even one Elf could make a large difference in battle.

A servant came hurrying up to him, interrupting his thoughts, and informed him that Thranduil awaited him in his study. Legolas immediately made his way to his father's study, hoping to be told that he could go back out on patrol.

Thranduil sat behind his desk, holding a letter in his hand. "How would you like to go to Imladris?" he asked without delay.

Legolas did not reply right away, surprised by this unforeseen turn of events, so his father continued. "I need someone to take news of Sméagol escape to Elrond anyway, and I just received word from him that he is going to hold a necessary council soon. As my son, you can take my place, and the trip will not be hard on your wound."

Legolas had, by now, overcome his surprise, and was trying to ignore his father's reasoning. "But, Adar, Imladris is…"

"Yes, I know you do not like traveling outside this realm, but you will not have to be gone long, probably only a week or two at the most." Thranduil was practically pleading, and he knew it. As much as he was overprotective of his only remaining son, he knew Legolas had to visit other realms some time or other, especially if he was one day going to be king.

Legolas sighed to himself; he really did not have a choice. If he stayed, his father would likely not allow him back on patrol for a couple more weeks anyway, and at least this would provide him with something to do. But on the other hand, he would have to leave his home, travel to Imladris, tell Elrond of Sméagol's escape, and attend a boring meeting.

"Fine," Legolas mumbled.

Thranduil smiled in amusement. "Good. You leave in two days."

Scene divider!

Legolas was ready to depart on the morning of the appointed day. Accompanying him was a small escort of guards, for Thranduil always insisted on it.

Legolas mentally checked all his supplies, including the weapons his brothers had made for him, except for the sword. He would likely have no need for it, but if he did, he still had the twin knives from Ransûl.

Satisfied he was ready to depart, Legolas stood by his horse, waiting for his father. Thranduil went over to his son and gave a slight smile, holding one hand to his chest and sweeping it outwards.

Legolas bowed in acknowledgement of this mounted his horse, escort following at a trot. Thranduil watched till they were out of sight, suddenly feeling as if he might not see his son for a very long time. "Be safe, my son."

Scene divider!

The journey to Rivendell was swift and easy, the small company of Elves arriving with no trouble. Halting his horse inside the main courtyard, Legolas quickly observed all his surroundings, noticing Mithrandir standing and watching on one of the many balconies looking out on the courtyard. He smiled slightly and nodded politely to the wizard, for he was known and loved among all Elves.

A servant came forward and led the Mirkwood party to their guest chambers while a few others led away their horses to be stabled.

After cleaning up and changing clothes, Legolas went in search of Elrond. Perhaps the sooner he delivered his news of Gollum, the sooner he could go back home. A nearby Elf directed him to a room down the hall, telling him Lord Elrond was with a patient at the moment.

Not wishing to intrude, Legolas waited outside in the hall until Elrond came out about a quarter of an hour later.

"Greetings, Lord Elrond," Legolas bowed his head. "I bring a message from my father, King Thranduil."

The Peredhil smiled suddenly. "Oh! Prince Legolas! It has been too long—I barely recognized you. You say you bring a message?"

Legolas nodded. "Sméagol, who is called Gollum, has escaped."

Elrond paled. "How?"

"Orcs," he fairly spat. "They attacked my guards while they were watching Sméagol. Fortunately, none were killed in the battle. We tracked them as far as we dared, but were unable to retake him."

"This is indeed grave news," Elrond replied after several moments' hesitation. "But there is graver still to be said. You will be attending the council in three days, I assume?"

"Yes, my lord. My father bid me come in his stead," Legolas answered. He wondered why the council was to be in three days and not any sooner. That meant he would have to stay at least another four days.

The two parted company, and Legolas spent most of the rest of the day wandering through the halls of Rivendell. It had hardly changed since the last time he had visited hundreds of years before. The company, however, was drastically changed. He ran across several Humans and a few incredibly short beings he could only identify as Halflings. He supposed they were all here for the council.

Legolas also saw Dwarves, but carefully avoided them. He had practically been raised against their race, the friendship between Elves and Dwarves having waned to nothing long ago. Not only that, but Legolas knew his father blamed the Dwarves for Ransûl's death, and the prince had adopted this idea himself. The blame and hate was only compounded by not knowing what had happened to Telepsîr, Laurëfin, and Lindil.

Nearly eighty years before, thirteen Dwarves had been captured while harassing his people, but Legolas had been out on patrol the whole time. Thranduil had been absolutely furious when the Dwarves had mysteriously escaped a while later, and could not be calmed for over a week.

Legolas had fought in the following Battle of Five Armies, and had seen there the young Halfling Bilbo, who had probably single-handedly prevented a physical war between the Elves and Dwarves, he did not know what had happened to Bilbo after the battle, or even if he was still alive.

Legolas retired back to his guest chambers, a servant bringing him his meal and hot water for a bath some time later. The next day was nearly torturous for the Elf prince, as there was nothing for him to do but sit idly. So he invited a few of his escort to practice archery with him in a little grove hear the border of the realm. The practice soon evolved into a contest, Legolas claiming the championship.

"And you are the ones who are supposed to be protecting me?" he teased. "It seems as if it should be the other way around."

A soft snicker came from behind a bush, and all the Elves had arrows strung and aimed at it in a flash. "Peace!" a voice called out in Elvish, and a Man slowly stepped out, his hands held up in plain view. Legolas recognized him as one of the Humans he had seen earlier. "Lower your weapons; I mean you no harm."

"Why were you spying on us?" Legolas demanded, not lowering his bow.

"I was not spying," the man replied, almost defensively. "I came here to practice myself, observed your contest, and could not help watching. Forgive me for interrupting." He waited a few moments, and when nobody moved, he said, "Are you going to point that thing at me all day?"

"Perhaps," Legolas answered tersely.

Undeterred, the Man extended his hand to the prince. "I am called Estel."

Legolas lowered his bow, reasoning that a dangerous Man would not be allowed in Rivendell, but kept it ready by his side. This "Estel" had a long sword hanging loose by his side, after all. "Legolas," he said, bowing his head only slightly.

The Man bowed in acknowledgement, and after a silent moment, excused himself, disappearing through the trees.

"Well. That was…interesting," said one of the Mirkwood Elves.

"I thought he was pleasant," said another.

"Perhaps a little _too_ pleasant."

"Suspicious."

"Quite. What do you think, my prince?"

"I do not like him," Legolas responded flatly.

"Why must you be so wary of everybody outside Mirkwood?" one of the guards, a bit closer to Legolas than the others, asked boldly.

Legolas turned a fierce glare on him. "My brother went to Gondor, the kingdom of Men, over two thousand years ago, and never returned."

That effectively silenced the others. The prince never spoke of his lost brothers, and it was practically an unwritten law to never speak of them anywhere near his presence.

They all silently made their way back inside, Legolas shutting himself up in his room for the rest of the day, lost in thought.

End of chapter. Next chapter will be up soon. I decided to give you all this chapter early, since I had nothing better to do. Is it really too much to ask that I get just _one_ review per chapter? I won't hold chapters for ransom or anything, but it really makes my day when I get one. Ok, enough of my sob story. d-: I promise this story will start getting better soon. I just had to get past all this boring crud and get into the real plot, next chappie. Yay!


	3. Hrivion

Thanks for the great reviews! I just love them all! Still don't own any teensy little bit of the Lord of the Rings, except for six books, four posters, and two stand-ups. And I already have enough problems with fangirls! This chapter is only about half as long as the others, but at the time I was writing it I didn't think I would post it, and I certainly didn't care how long it was. Hope you don't mind. Cuz it's too bad! MWAHAHA.

Princes of the Earth

Chapter Three

Hrívion

The next day it was announced that there would be a feast that evening in the honor of the Halfling Frodo Baggins. Legolas did not know who he was, or why there would be a feast in honor of him, but he wondered if he was of any relation to Bilbo Baggins.

That day looked to be much like the previous, and Legolas wondered what the residents of Rivendell did all day, if anything. So he decided to take a walk around the entire perimeter of the valley, hoping it would take him all day. He brought all his weapons along and left a note on his bed as to where he had gone, just in case. He did not tell his guards where he was going, however, for fear they would insist on coming along.

Legolas managed to get out of the House without being seen easily enough, and hurried until he was near the borders. He slowed his pace and wandered aimlessly for hours, stopping occasionally beside a small brook, or to hear a bird sing or a tree speak to him.

Finally when the sun began to set and he had made his way around the entire border of Rivendell, Legolas returned to his room, climbing a tree to access his balcony rather than using the front entrance.

Barely a few minutes later a knock came at his door and a servant announced that the feast would begin in an hour, and that all guests were to attend. Legolas hurriedly bathed and donned the more formal outfit he had brought along for occasions just such as this and made his way to the dining hall.

Many Elves were already there, as he had taken his time in finding the place. Legolas also noticed with disdain the small group of Dwarves talking amongst themselves in one corner of the room, as if they too were trying to stay as far as possible from the race they disliked. Legolas also saw a couple of Humans, though there was no sign of the one, Estel, from the previous day.

But what drew Legolas's eyes in particular were two Halflings already sitting at the extended table. These two looked young, and were currently encircled by a small crowd of Elves, and were apparently regaling them with a tale. Legolas was content to stand against the wall, watching the mysterious creatures, their faces alight with the life of the tale. A short while later, two others of their kind joined them, and the reunion was obviously a joyful one.

Legolas quickly cast his eyes from the scene, for not only did it not concern him, but only served to remind him of his own kin and friends back home. Turning to go, he nearly ran smack into the Human he had seen twice before, Estel, and was saved only by his quick reflexes.

"Forgive me, I did not see you there," Legolas quickly mumbled, hastily fleeing the scene and leaving behind an open-mouthed Human, an apology dying on his lips.

The rest of the evening passed dully for Legolas as he focused most of his attention on the plate before him, though he hardly touched any of the food on it, and tried to avoid eye contact and conversation with everybody. Finally he managed to slip out of the hall and retire early.

Scene divider!

The grand council finally came and went the next afternoon, taking up most of the day. After the council, the fact had been established that the one Ring of Power had to be destroyed. Lord Elrond came to Legolas privately, asking the prince if he would consent to being a part of a fellowship of nine that would enter Mordor and seek the great Mount Doom to cast the Ring into it.

He did not have to expound upon the risks to the younger Elf, as all that had been more than covered in the council.

Legolas asked till morning to give his decision, which Elrond gladly consented to. But Legolas was already almost certain of his answer. He felt he had a sense of duty when there was a need that he could fill, and it was most certainly a noble cause.

But besides that, deep down, he felt that this was something that his brothers would have supported and encouraged, and helped in any way possible.

His mind made up, Legolas spent most of the rest of the night in silent contemplation and in carefully writing a letter to his father, explaining what he was going to do, and his reasoning behind it. Legolas could only hope that his father would understand and forgive him. He would send the letter back to Mirkwood with his escort the following morning.

Scene divider!

In the time it took for scouts to return to Imladris with news of the surrounding area before the Fellowship could depart, Legolas had received a reply from his father. Thranduil had given his permission and his blessing, although reluctantly, on the Quest. Thranduil knew from the tone of Legolas's letter that his son believed in this mission, and nothing could persuade him otherwise once he changed his mind. But both knew that the prince would do anything should his father order it.

So, soon afterwards, the Fellowship bid farewell to that fair valley and its inhabitants, setting out on what was possibly the biggest, most dangerous adventure of that Age.

Scene divider!

The passage south was being closely guarded, and the Gap of Rohan would lead the Fellowship much too close to Isengard for comfort. The Mines of Moria were definitely a last resort, which left them with only one choice.

Caradhras towered high above them, its majestic point seeming to leer down on the Nine and dare them to try to scale it.

And try they did.

It was a long, bitter trudge up the Mountain in below-freezing weather, and the two Men had to carry the Hobbits when the snow and ice became too deep for them to keep walking.

The only one who seemed unperturbed by the raging winds and hurling ice was Legolas, who walked beside or behind the group, atop the snow.

The Elf walked forward in front of the Company, blinking snow out of his eyes and listening attentively. "There is a fell voice upon the air!" he declared.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf shouted, and a great crack rent the air at that same moment. A barrage of rocks came tumbling down as everyone quickly pressed up against the side of the mountain. The rocks fell harmlessly past them.

"Gandalf! We must get off the mountain!" Boromir yelled above the wind. "This will be the death of the Hobbits!"

"No!" Gandalf shouted back. They had to get over the Mountain, they simply had to! The alternative of the dark Mines was not one he wished to think about. The Wizard stepped up next to Legolas and raised his arms and his staff, chanting into the wind to appease the wrath of Caradhras.

A deafening boom was heard from above, accompanied by a nearly blinding flash. Snow like a great wave plummeted down to crash upon them, and Legolas pulled Gandalf back from the ledge just in time before the Wizard could be swept away.

For a long minute, all was calm, the narrow ledge the Fellowship had been standing on now completely covered with snow.

Frodo's mind was in a haze. Oxygen was quickly running out, and his entire body was numb from both the cold and the impact of the snow crashing down on them. He could see nothing, not even the all-consuming whiteness of before.

Desperately, he kicked and struggled until at last his head and one arm broke the surface with a burst of cold air. All he could see was the infinite white and grey—and a pale hand extended down to him. Blindly, he grasped it and gasped at the contact. The hand was frighteningly cold, and not the same cold that encompassed the Hobbit's entire body.

He looked to the owner of the hand as he was hauled upwards, and nearly gasped again, falling backwards onto the snow as he was met with two startling silver eyes. They were as cold as ice, yet pure and not sinister in the least.

The being moved on to aid the others of the Fellowship as Frodo watched, and soon all were freed of their snowy prison and gathered about the newcomer.

He was dressed all in flowing white robes that whipped about him angrily in the wind, and he had pure white hair to the middle of his back. Even his lips had little color to them. He was obviously an Elf, with exceedingly fair skin, flawless features, and pointed ears. In fact, Frodo thought he looked much like Legolas. But then again, many of the Elves he had seen all resembled one another.

"Speak, stranger," Gandalf said. "What is your name and what is your business in these barren parts?"

The stranger cast a quick glance at Legolas, who was studying him intently, and it was filled with a strange emotion the others could not identify. He looked back to Gandalf. "I might ask the same of you and yours, Istar," the stranger replied. "I am Los, and I am the keeper of this mountain."

"Keeper! And a find job you're doing of it, Elf," Gimli mumbled, barely to be heard by those close by.

Los cast his sharp eyes to the Dwarf, but did not reply. Turning back to Gandalf, he continued. "Your company seeks passage over the Mountain, Mithrandir, yet there is much devilry in the air today."

"You said you are the keeper of the mountain," Boromir spoke up doubtfully. "Can you not calm its wrath?"

Los smiled down upon the Man. "Nay, for I feel it is the Wizard Saruman at work here. He does not wish for your safe passage. Not I alone am able to contest the will of the White Wizard and be victorious."

"Then we have no choice!" Boromir exclaimed. "We cannot possibly hope to cross treacherous Caradhras!"

"We must go through the Mines!" Gimli added.

"I said only that I could not defeat Saruman alone," sad Los. "But you may still slip under his defenses with my aid. I believe I could safely guide you across."

They all seemed to ponder this for a long moment, before Gandalf inquired, "And why would you, who knows nothing about us, be so willing to aid us?"

"I would aid you willingly against Saruman because your Quest is one of a righteous cause for the good of all Arda, and I believe in it." Los turned his eyes on Frodo, lingering a moment on the Hobbit. Frodo glanced away, unable to withstand the piercing gaze that seemed to see through him.

"How do you know of that?" Gandalf demanded.

"We see much, Mithrandir, more than you know." No one knew who the "we" being referred to was. "But know that in this I am your ally, and would help your company in any way I may."

Everyone digested this new information, before Gandalf again broke the silence. "Let the Ringbearer decide."

Frodo looked up in surprise, and was met with the sharp silver eyes of Los. There was no visible emotion or judgment in those eyes, but still they unnerved him. And he could not forget the frightening coldness of the Elf's hands, though, he admitted to himself, that was certainly inconsequential. They were surrounded by snow and ice as far as the eye could see, after all.

But he did not completely trust the stranger, despite his fair appearance. Los bore no visible weapons, nor provisions, and there was definitely something strange about someone who apparently lived on a mountain and claimed to be its keeper.

Frodo would prefer to go through the Mines of Moria at that point, for he did not know the true darkness and dangers that dwelt there in the deep. But most importantly, as his body screamed at him, at least it was warm there. He could not argue with Boromir's logic that the Hobbits would surely meet their death on the mountain, despite the assurances of Los.

"We will go through the Mines," he finally said.

"So be it," Gandalf replied without emotion.

The two Men gathered up the Hobbits and, with one last look at the stranger, turned and started back the way they had come, along with the Dwarf. Gandalf sighed and bowed his head to Los, heading after the others.

Legolas and Los simply stared at each other for a long while, neither knowing what to say. Los finally murmured, "Your companions are leaving you," to which Legolas only nodded. He felt as if he should somehow know this mysterious person, and he longed to stay and find out more about him.

But Los had spoken true, and Legolas was being left behind, although he could easily catch up with the others. At last, he raised his hand to his chest and swept it outwards. "Farewell."

"Farewell," Los returned. "May we meet again." He watched until Legolas was nearly out of sight, then longingly whispered to the wind, "You've grown up so much."

The hike was much easier back down the mountain, whether by some cruel joke of Caradhras, or by some design of Los, none knew.

End of chapter. Hope you liked. I found it rather cheesy. But then again, I find this whole thing rather cheesy. But that's just me. (Hopefully.) I decided to give this to you all a bit early since it's so short. See you all next week! Or whenever…


	4. Hir Mor

Thanks for the reviews! I love them to pieces! Quick note to MornieGalad—this is sorta a mix of the books and movies (although yeah, more movie than book), but also AU, as you can especially see in this chapter. Thanks though! Also, I'm sorta sick right now and having trouble focusing, so sorry if this has mistakes (or seems to be missing sentences…lol). I'll correct them as soon as I notice. (Hey! Now I have an excuse for my poor writing! Yay!)

Princes of the Earth

Chapter Four

Hir Mor

"This is no mine—it's a tomb!" Boromir declared.

The Hobbits gave a cry of surprise and disgust as they stumbled backwards over a rotted corpse. Frodo felt something wet and slippery wrap around his ankle, and an instant later, before he could cry out, he was yanked backwards. He fell hard on the ground and flipped over, trying to brace himself with his arms and free leg as he was pulled toward the water, crying out in panic.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, the first to spring forward, hacking wildly with his short sword. The nearly-severed tentacle quickly released Frodo and retreated into the water. But before Frodo even had a chance to move, a dozen more of the snake-like projections exploded out of the water, throwing back the other Hobbits and grabbing Frodo again. He screamed as he was violently hauled into the air above the monster's giant head.

Aragorn and Boromir charged into the water and began slashing away at the huge tentacles while Gandalf and Gimli held back the other Hobbits from rushing to certain doom. Legolas slowly strung an arrow to his bow, watching closely for the right moment. He saw it and let his arrow fly, right into the arm-like projection that held the struggling Frodo. This, however, had little effect on the monster, and the Elf quickly strung another arrow.

Aragorn had finally fought his way over to the tentacle that held Frodo, just as he was being lowered down to the creature's mouth, and quickly sliced it in two. Boromir caught the Hobbit squarely in his arms as Frodo fell many feet through the air, and he and Aragorn ran as fast as they could back into the Mines.

Legolas shot another arrow right into the center of the beast's eye before quickly ushering the Hobbits into the mines as the Watcher drew back with a cry of pain.

As quickly as they could, the Fellowship fled into the stone chamber, and not a moment too soon. The air was filled with near-deafening cracks as the Watcher recovered from the blow and wrapped many of its remaining tentacles on the Door and the rock surrounding it, and pulled.

No one spoke or moved for several long minutes until finally all the rock settled and there was not a sound to be heard but their labored breathing.

With a sudden burst of light, Gandalf lit up his staff and resolutely tapped it against the ground. "It is settled then. We have no choice but to face the long dark of Moria."

Legolas hid a shudder, already feeling the dark walls closing in on him. As an Elf, he naturally disliked caves, much preferring to be outside in the fresh air, surrounded by nature. True, his own father's palace was a sort of cave, built into the mountainside, but that was much different from this. The Elven cave had many windows and shafts to let in light and fresh air, and there were always many torches and fires burning.

It was nothing like that here. Perhaps at one time Khazad-dûm had been a grand, beautiful place overflowing with wealth and light, but since the goblins had overrun it, it was hardly more than a vast, dark cave.

Scene divider!

The Fellowship waited with baited breath as the last sharp bangs of the skeleton and chained bucket Pippin had knocked into the old well finally faded to nothing. Just as they let out their sighs of relief, a dull pounding was heard as if from far away, resounding throughout the cavern.

The words of Gandalf as he read the old Dwarf book echoed in their minds. "Drums. Drums in the deep. We cannot get out. They are coming."

Screeches suddenly filled the air alarmingly close to the stone room the Fellowship was now stationed in. Aragorn and Boromir ran to the rotten wood doors and barricaded them as best as possible with whatever lay nearby as the others readied their weapons.

The screeches and yells of Orcs drew closer and closer until there was a great crashing on the doors. Orcs pulled out small pieces of the rotted wood with their swords and axes, but were immediately shot by Legolas or Aragorn.

The doors exploded open with a might push, and waves of the foul Orcs flooded in. The Fellowship soon had their hands full slaying the beasts. A crash alerted them to a new presence, and they all looked up in dread to see a cave troll smash its way into the chamber, a huge club in its hand.

The Orcs continued pouring in, and still more were in the hallway leading to the room, trying to push their way in.

But suddenly all the Orcs in the hallway went silent for a moment before screaming madly again, but this time out of fear and hate. The push to get into the stone chamber became a mad dash to get out of the hall, and away from whatever gave them such fear.

Merry laughter trickled in above the angry yells of the Orcs, and the Fellowship stared in wonder as the beasts ran right past them, trying to escape. Even the troll roared in fright and stampeded past, trampling the Orcs that got in his way to the opposite exit.

But the Orcs were not so lucky. The foul creatures surrounding the entrance and the hall screeched in terror one last time before being silenced by the sharp end of a weapon.

The Fellowship started in surprise when the path of dead Orcs spread inside to reveal an Elf. He expertly wielded two long silver knives, an excited smile on his face and glint in his eye as he cut down the Orcs. "Kill them!" he shouted to the Company, snapping them out of their daze as they did as he said.

In no time, all the rest of the Orcs lay dead on the stone floor, or had fled after the troll. The stranger quickly wiped off his knives and sheathed them at his belt. "Stay," he said. "We are safe here. You may rest a moment."

"Who are you, stranger, that strikes such terror into the miserable hearts of the Orcs?" Aragorn asked in amazement.

"I am called Mor," the Elf replied, still with the smile, "and I make my home in these mines."

The Company felt themselves gaping. Another being besides Orcs and other creatures of the Darkness living in Moria after its fall was unheard of, much less an Elf. But then again, Mor certainly did look as if he lived there.

He had black hair and wore all black and dark brown, as his name suggested. However, his skin was extremely fair, and his sharp, ever-alert eyes were a pure silver. The only apparent weapons they could see were the two long, silver-hafted knives at his belt.

"H-how long have you lived here, Mister Elf?" Pippin asked in awe.

"Much longer than you have been around," Mor answered teasingly. "Almost before even you were born, Master Elf," he gestured to Legolas, and his smiled faded almost imperceptibly.

"That is a very long time," Gandalf observed. "What brings one of the Firstborn to dwell so long underground, even before Moria fell?"

"Fate," he answered simply. "I belong here."

"That was an impressive display a while ago," Boromir said, wondering at that last statement. "What have you done that makes those vile creatures hate and fear you so?"

"I have killed many of their kind," Mor replied gravely. "Over time, they learned to fear me, and even avoid me. Their inability to harm me causes them to hate me."

He smiled again. "But we must be leaving this place if you wish to reach the East Gate before nightfall. I have told you of myself, now, come, tell me about yourselves as we walk."

They did as he said, leaving the stone chamber at an easy pace. He bid them tell him of their Quest thus far, and they paused, uncertain of how much to reveal to this stranger.

"Worry not," he laughed. "I know all about your Quest. We see much—more than you know. It is such a heavy burden to be placed on one so small." His eyes darkened as he looked at Frodo. "But such things are not to be spoken of, especially not here." He quickly turned his eyes back to the others. "So come, tell me of your journey so far."

So they did, telling from their departure from Rivendell, up until Caradhras.

"Ah, so you attempted the Mountain Pass, did you?" Mor said. "Then you have surely met my brother, Los."

"Brother!" they all cried in surprise.

"So you are the 'we' he spoke of!" Gimli exclaimed.

Mor laughed. "Yes, brother. Although I admit we do not look very much alike." It was true. Despite the pale skin and similar features, they were the exact opposite. Where Los was light, Mor was dark, from clothing to hair.

"So why did you not take the pass over Caradhras?" Mor queried. "I would think that all here but the Dwarf would prefer the above ground, and I am positive that my brother offered to aid you."

There was an uneasy silence for a while until Pippin broke it with, "It was Frodo who chose!" and pointed accusingly at the other.

"Pippin!" Merry whispered harshly, jabbing his elbow into his younger cousin's ribs.

"Ah, I see," Mor said with a knowing smile. "My brother can be quite intimidating sometimes." And he left it at that, for which the Company was grateful. To evoke the wrath of one who held such fear over the Orcs, and for good reason, did not seem the wisest thing to do, even though it appeared nearly impossible to do so.

Mor dropped back to walk beside Legolas, who brought up the rear of the group, and began talking to him in low tones as they continued walking. He wanted to know everything of the outside world, though he already knew much. He was especially interested in the Elven realms, particularly Mirkwood—or Greenwood the Great, as he still called it—though he would not say why.

He made Legolas tell everything he could, and to his surprise, the younger Elf found himself most willing to. Somehow, it just seemed right talking to this stranger so openly.

Mor was grieved when he heard of the spreading shadow over the Forest, though he had long known of it, and offered only by way of explanation that he had known Greenwood when it was in its prime, bathed in beauty and light.

Gimli watched the two Elves as they conversed for many long minutes, wishing himself to talk to the mysterious Mor, although Gandalf held him back from doing so. The Dwarf knew that if Mor had really lived in the Mines as long as he said he had, then he would have seen the restoration by the Dwarves, led by his cousin Balin, then the eventual overthrow again by the Orcs.

Finally Mor left Legolas's side to walk beside Gandalf. They were entering a cavernous hall with many huge pillars supporting an unseen ceiling high above, wrapped in shadows. Mor raised his hand, and it was as if the shadows rolled back, enabling the Fellowship to see much farther, to the very end of the rows upon rows of mammoth supporting pillars.

Ignoring their gasps of surprise, he turned to Gimli. "It was not my role to interfere in the taking of Moria nor the battles against the Dwarves, though I watched all from the shadows and helped where I could whilst remaining unseen."

He laughed as Gimli's eyes widened further in surprise. "No, Master Dwarf, I am no mind-reader. Much is plainly written upon your face."

Mor suddenly fell silent, the smile disappearing from his face as he cocked his head slightly to the side, as if listening to something. The Fellowship likewise went still, trusting in Mor's senses and instincts.

His eyes slid shut for a quick moment and Legolas distinctly heard him mutter, "Oh, not good."

"Mor? What is it?" Gandalf questioned.

"Run!" Mor shouted. "If ever you wish to reach the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, you must run now! We have delayed too long."

The Fellowship jumped at this sudden outburst, following him as he took the lead running. About halfway through the hall, Mor unexpectedly turned to the side instead of continuing straight ahead to the end where a broad staircase descended. Legolas looked back and gasped as flames suddenly shot up from the staircase.

"A Balrog!" Gandalf realized.

Mor quickly led them through a short hallway which opened onto a long, winding staircase that descended to the level of the Bridge, now within sight. They soon came to a gap within the staircase that was not too wide, but posed a danger in crossing simply from the sheer drop beneath it.

Legolas was the first to jump across, followed by Gandalf, then Gimli, who barely made it with the help of Legolas. Boromir leaped next with Merry and Pippin each tucked under one broad arm. The force of his jump caused a small part of the old stone to crumble and give way, falling into the deep blackness below.

"You next," Mor commanded Aragorn. At the Man's immediate protest, he assured him that he would toss the remaining two Hobbits over to him. So Aragorn did as commanded and nimbly leapt across, turning to receive the first Hobbit.

Mor took a hold of the back of Sam's shirt, the Hobbit's eyes wide in fear, and easily threw him across to Aragorn's waiting arms. However, this sudden action only served to crumble the narrow staircase further, and Mor grabbed Frodo's hand to haul him back.

Frodo gasped at the contact, suddenly realizing something. Mor's hands were frighteningly cold, just as Los's had been. He briefly wondered why, as they were no longer on the snow-covered mountain. In fact, Frodo felt sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as more flames leapt up behind them.

His thoughts were cut off, however, as he was suddenly hoisted up by the back of his shirt, and went sailing through the air, landing safely in Legolas's arms a moment later.

Mor then gave a mighty leap, landing safely on the other side and immediately pushing them onwards again. They ran faster as the Bridge neared, and the Hobbits did not hesitate in crossing it, despite their natural fear of heights, followed by Gimli and the Humans.

Gandalf stopped to look back at the nearing flames, and at that moment, a great and terrible form of shadow leapt up from a fissure in the stone ground.

"Go!" Mor shouted, giving Gandalf a definitive push toward the Bridge. "I shall deal with this. They need you now. Go!"

Legolas was about to follow Gandalf across when he turned back, and Mor immediately grasped him in a firm hug. "We shall meet again, brother," he said surprisingly, for although it was not uncommon for Elves to call one another brother, it was rare to do so on the first day of their meeting.

"Farewell," Legolas said simply, not able to say anything else. He quickly turned and fled across the bridge.

Mor followed him halfway across, and with a final smile at Legolas, turned to face the approaching Balrog.

"You shall not pass!" Mor shouted, unsheathing his two silver knives and holding them crossed before him.

"No!" Legolas shouted, but before he could move forward, he was grabbed by Aragorn and forced toward the East Gate, where streamed in welcomed natural light.

Mor smiled as the Balrog took a step onto the Bridge, swinging its fiery whip. "You've become more than I could have ever dreamed, dear Legolas," he whispered.

End of chapter. Hehe. No, he wasn't talking to the Balrog. Hehe. Legolas the Balrog. Lol. I know he stole Gandalf's famous line, but it was just too good to pass up! Next chapter is rather (really really) short (only four pages on notebook paper), so I'll probably give it to you early if I feel nice. (: Did this chapter seem extremely rushed to anyone else? Oh well.


	5. A Brief Respite

I am sooooo sorry for the delay! Real life interfered for a while. But I'm afraid I won't be able to post this Friday either. But I will as soon as I can! Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. The next will be longer.

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 5

A Brief Respite

Even in the safehaven of Lothlórien Legolas felt a strange grief upon him. True, the company had all made it safely to the great Elven realm and all around was a joyful song of welcome for the weary travelers, but Legolas could not find peace.

The last sight of Mor as he stood upon the Bridge to face the Balrog, his sharp silver eyes filled with an unreadable emotion, haunted Legolas. He felt as if he had actually grown quite close to the strange Elf, almost like the renewal of an old bond. To see him face certain doom, alone, unaided, for their sakes, stabbed at Legolas's heart.

And then there was Los, the other strange Elf they had met upon Caradhras. Legolas yearned to return to the Mountain and speak more with him, for their meeting had been all too brief in his eyes.

An interesting pair the two brothers made.

"What holds your thoughts so deeply, woodland prince, that you notice not that which goes on around you?"

Legolas nearly jumped at the soft, deep voice. "Lady Galadriel," he greeted, standing swiftly and bowing to her. She and the Fellowship had already met a few hours before, and Legolas had left the others after being shown to their sleeping place. He had aimlessly wandered through the fair forest for a while until he had come upon this small clearing.

Galadriel smiled slightly, bidding Legolas sit as she gracefully seated herself on a large root. "Something weighs heavily upon your mind," she stated, rather than asked again.

"It is the brothers, Los and Mor, my lady. They somehow remind me of how—" he quickly shut his mouth, having surprised himself at how easily the words had come forward. He was never so open and talkative with anyone, it simply not being in his nature to do so.

Galadriel smiled slightly. She knew well of the quiet, rather reclusive prince. "Remind you of what?" she gently prodded, and after a moment of silence, spoke again. "Of how your own brothers might have been?"

Legolas glanced at her sharply, peering into her deep eyes. His own gaze softened as he relaxed his inner defenses. "Tell me of them," he pleaded softly. His father had told him of his four elder brothers, of course, but being ever curious about them, he always wanted to know others' thoughts and experiences with them.

The Lady smiled softly, recalling memories of the four elder princes of Mirkwood—or Greenwood the Great, as it was still called back then.

"I first met your brothers when young Ransûl was barely old enough to talk, and Telepsîr was already maturing into quite the young prince," Galadriel began. "Your entire family came here for the Winter Festival, I believe it was.

"I remember how Telepsîr would spend time with the warriors, copying their every move, or lecturing his brothers on 'how to be a proper prince.'" She laughed. "Laurëfin was always off exploring everything he could find, and Ransûl—well, he was too young to do much of anything, but he somehow got into the most mischief a child of that age possibly can."

The two laughed lightly at that notion before Legolas asked, "And what of Lindil?"

"Ah yes." Galadriel smiled again at the memories. "Lindil's first action upon arriving was to seek out the minstrels and haunt their every step until departure a week later."

Legolas smiled again at this. It certainly fit the picture of the music-loving Lindil he had been told of.

"It was quite amusing seeing them being followed everywhere by a small child," Galadriel continued. "He even performed with them during the feasts and activities when not forcefully dragged away by your mother or father. He had quite a talent with his voice and any instrument he picked up, especially the harp…" Her voice faded away.

"Was that the only time you saw them?" Legolas queried.

"Oh, no. We saw them from time to time, usually at special occasions or festivals. They grew and matured into four of the greatest, noblest princes Arda has ever seen."

Legolas bowed his head, hiding his face behind his long golden hair. "I wish I could have known them."

Galadriel stood, softly placing one white hand atop the prince's bowed head. "Perhaps you shall, on the other side. I have faith that Illúvatar shall not keep you apart forever."

She tilted his chin up with two slender fingers, and looked deep into his eyes. "Have hope. You _shall_ meet again." She smiled softly at him, then departed as quietly as a whispering wind.

Legolas sat there for a few minutes more, thinking over all that had been said. Then he rose and made his way back to the Fellowship with a smile on his lips and peace in his heart.


	6. Nen

A/N: I am sooo sorry for the long delay. But like I said in my new story "Sail Away," life has just been one mess after another, and now we're making a huge multi-state move in just five weeks now. Believe it or not, I haven't actually written any more on this since I started posting it, which I really should. I see this story having only twelve or so chapters, so it's already half done! So, without further ado, here's the next chapter. I hope it was worth the wait. I put a twist on the Boromir-gone-evil-thing. Hope you like. (Yay! I finally found a scene divider that actually works! So now instead of "scene divider" it will be …………..)

Don't own it, don't wish I did, even though I borrowed a few (coughseveralcough) lines here and there…

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 6

Nen

The Fellowship departed Lothlórien with high spirits and renewed hope. Celeborn had gifted them with four boats to travel down the Anduin till they reached the Falls of Rauros, as Gandalf, Aragorn, and the Elf lord had decided. There Boromir would turn West to his own city, and Frodo and Sam would continue East to Mordor, with those who would accompany them. As yet, the majority of the Fellowship was undecided as to their course, for though none of them wished to abandon Frodo to the hopeless quest ahead, none of them wished to enter Mordor, either.

In one boat was Gandalf and Pippin; another held Boromir and Merry; the third Legolas and Gimli; and in the last were Frodo and Aragorn, along with Sam, who refused to leave his master's side even to board another boat.

So the Companions bid farewell to the fair safehaven of Lórien—most likely the last until they reached their journey's end—after a last meal with the Lady Galadriel and her husband.

The White Lady gifted to them each something suitable for the journey. To Sam, she gave Elven rope, silky to the touch but exceptionally strong; and a little box of grey dirt and a silver seed—for when he returned home, she said, he might have need of it. To Merry and Pippin she gave daggers, more than useful in the trials ahead. To Boromir she gave a belt of gold, fashioned in the shape of intertwining leaves; to Legolas a bow of the Galadhrim, longer and stronger than his from Mirkwood; to Aragorn a bejeweled and inscribed scabbard worthy of the newly reforged Andúril. Gimli asked only for a single golden hair from head, and she gifted him with three, which he kept near his heart for he had grown very fond of her.

None saw her parting with Gandalf, nor heard her words of wisdom she bequeathed to him.

So the Fellowship started their long journey down the River. They let the flow carry them along at an easy pace, rowing occasionally until they reached their destination at Amon Hen several days later. At first there were laughter and songs as they moved downstream, but after a time these faded, as with the scenery.

The landscape about them changed from slopes of green and tall trees to war-scarred brown lands with not a living green thing in sight, just in a matter of days.

Rock walls rose up to meet them on either side of the River, quickly growing to towering cliffs high above them.

All were silent as Aragorn unexpectedly laid a hand on Frodo's shoulder, directing the hobbit from his thoughts to what lay ahead. "Look, Frodo," he said, and the Ranger of the North was gone, momentarily replaced by the true King beneath. "The Argonath."

Two great statues adorned either side of the River, absolutely massive in their size and the power it must have taken to create them. In them were carved the likenesses of Isildur and Anárion, sons of the King Elendil, both with their left hand outstretched in warning.

As the four small boats passed under the shadow of the Pillars of the Kings, Legolas knew in his heart that something was about to happen that would change the course of their journey, perhaps even the future—but he knew not what. ………………

……………The Company set up camp under the protection of the trees on the Western bank of Nen Hithoel, waiting till the cover of dark to cross.

Gandalf and Aragorn were in deep discussion while the Hobbits tried to get what rest they could, finally free of the uncomfortable boats. Gimli was inspecting his smaller throwing axes; Boromir had disappeared into the forest to gather dry firewood; and Legolas stood at the edge of the trees, watching, listening, and feeling.

The Elf abruptly spun and crossed the short distance to where Aragorn and Gandalf sat talking. "Something is coming," Legolas stated. "I can feel it. A shadow and a threat have been growing on my mind, along with…something…something else."

"Orcs patrol the eastern shore," Aragorn reminded him unnecessarily. "We must wait until nightfall."

"Aragorn is right, but I too have felt it," Gandalf said. "It is not the eastern shore that shall soon be our greatest concern."

Merry opened one eye, aroused by the voices, and glanced around the camp, prepared to go back to sleep before he started fully awake. "Where's Frodo?"

Sam sprang up, hearing his fellow's inquiry, and quickly scanned the camp with his own eyes. Merry was right. Frodo was nowhere in sight.

Aragorn shouted a halt as the remaining three Hobbits immediately jumped up and ran into the forest calling for Frodo. The Ranger cursed when he was ignored and charged in after them, quickly followed by Legolas, Gimli, and Gandalf. ……………

……………Boromir broke off mid-sentence, looking up and laying a hand protectively on Frodo's shoulder. "Do you feel that?" he whispered.

"Feel wha—"

"Sh!" The Man stayed perfectly still for several more long moments before glancing down at Frodo. "Something approaches at a quick pace. This does not bode well. I sense evil afoot."

He turned the Hobbit to face him. "Many enemies are nearly upon us. You must lend me the Ring, just for a little while."

"What? No!" Frodo exclaimed, pulling out of the Man's grasp and stumbling back a few steps. He laid a hand on his chest, over the Ring which hung on a chain about his neck.

"Just so I may defeat these new foes!" Boromir insisted. "So I may defend you! It is hopeless otherwise."

"You are not yourself," Frodo said, turning to leave. If enemies really were coming, he should get back to the shore and warn the others.

"It is for your own good, yet you are too blind to see it! If you are not wise enough to lend it to me of your own volition, then I must take it by force!" he shouted, lunging at Frodo.

The Hobbit fell with a cry as the Man's larger mass collided with his, sending both crashing to the ground. "It is not yours save by unhappy chance!" Boromir shouted, pawing desperately at Frodo's shirt while the Hobbit tried to fight off his hands. "It could have been mine—it should be mine! Give it to me!"

With a final grunt, Frodo managed to slip the Ring onto his finger, disappearing from Boromir's sight. He used the Man's surprise to kick him off and scamper away.

It took Boromir a few moments to snap out of his enraged daze, thanks to Frodo's kick to his face, and remember where he was and what had happened.

"Oh no…what have I done? What have I done! Frodo!" he called, but to no avail. He gasped suddenly. "The enemy! I must…save Frodo! They will kill him and take the…the Ring…" Grabbing his horn from where it had fallen during the scuffle, he sprang to his feet and in the direction he though Frodo had gone……………

……………Frodo did not know how long he ran in the shadow world, but he continued until he almost ran right into a large stone statue, as he thought, and could no longer hear Boromir's voice behind him.

He could now plainly feel the great evil of the approaching enemy, and he clambered up the stone, pressing back into a small nook.

As if controlled by some other force, Frodo slowly stood and turned, only to be confronted by a vision of the Eye of Sauron, filling all his sight. He heard it speak to him, of death and doom, but over the dark, evil voice, he heard another—fairer, pleading and commanding.

"Take it off, fool! The Ring! The Ring! Take it off, quickly! Before it is too late!"

He hastily obeyed, clawing his finger in his haste to remove the evil thing. It slid off and he fell back with a cry, landing hard on the ground in the real world. Not a moment later, another voice disturbed the stillness, this one concerned as it spoke his name.

Frodo quickly scrambled up to see Aragorn standing before him, looking quite concerned. "It has taken Boromir!" the Hobbit blurted.

"Where is it?" the Ranger demanded, taking a step forward, but Frodo only stumbled backwards, clutching the Ring tightly. "I swore to protect you," Aragorn said in a softer tone. "I only wished to know if it was safe." This time the Hobbit let him approach.

"Would you destroy it?" he challenged, opening his palm to reveal the innocent-looking band of gold.

Aragorn stood before him, hand wavering uncertainly over Frodo's. The temptation was so strong, it would be so easy. All he had to do to reclaim what was rightfully his—what would give him the power to defeat Sauron, to restore Gondor to its former glory, to make him the most powerful and wise ruler in history—was to reach forth and take it. He could easily slay one simple Hobbit, just with one easy stroke of his sword…

His hand enclosed upon Frodo's as he dropped to his knees, closing the Hobbit's fingers around the Ring. "I would have gone with you to the end, into the very fires of Mordor."

The two simply looked into the other's eyes for a long moment, and no words were needed. With a barely perceptible nod, Frodo took a step back. "Look after the others, especially dear Sam. I am afraid he will not understand."

Aragorn nodded, and glancing down, quickly stood, unsheathing his sword. "Run, Frodo." When the Hobbit did not obey immediately, he shouted more forcefully, "Run!"

Frodo glanced down at his glowing sword in surprise, then back at Aragorn. There was something in the Man's eyes, a calm reassurance that all would be alright—that made Frodo love the Man all the more and want to do anything he commanded.

So he turned on his heel and fled, back into the woods, as Aragorn turned to face the army of Orcs and Uruk-hai awaiting him. And with a cry, both charged.

Neither Man, nor Hobbit, nor Orc knew that they had been watched the entire time, and were still. The tall figure stood unnoticed beneath the trees, cloaked and hooded all in grey. He smiled as the Hobbit fled, knowing he would be safely taken care of……………

…………Sam skidded to a halt from his run through the woods as the sound of metal clashing upon metal met his ears. "Battle!" he said to himself, "or I'm no Hobbit! Now think, Sam, think! Gamgee, you fool. The others will be drawn to the battle, but not Mister Frodo, no. He knows what's to be done, though he may pretend not to. He knows he has to get to Mordor!"

Sam turned abruptly around, facing the direction he had just come from. "The boats! They're his only way to get across! The shore! He'll be heading for the shore, meaning to leave—and without his Sam! You're not leaving without your Sam!" he cried, taking off again.

He had almost reached the tree line when he suddenly collided with an unseen object, sending both crashing to the ground with two cries of pain and surprise. Frodo suddenly appeared beneath him, having removed the Ring from his finger, which he had been wearing to escape through the woods while avoiding detection. "Sam! What are you—"

"Finding you!" Sam interrupted, helping his master to his feet. "You weren't meaning to leave without me, were you?"

Frodo quickly walked on, looking back over his shoulder at his faithful companion. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm going to Mordor alone."

"Of course you are! And I'm coming with you!" Sam replied in a slightly hurt tone. By this time they had reached the shore.

Frodo looked to where the boats had been kept, and gasped in dismay. One was missing, no doubt having floated downstream and over the falls, and the other three were completely destroyed, hacked to pieces. It was clearly the handiwork of Orcs.

"No!" Frodo exclaimed, sinking to the ground in despair. "I came all this way—all this long journey—to be foiled here. Now what am I to do? How am I to cross? How am I to get to Mordor? How is the Ring to be destroyed now, Samwise?"

"Do not despair." Frodo and Sam jerked at the sudden strange voice. "All is not lost."

Their eyes came to rest upon a figure neither had noticed before, having been intent on their flight and the destroyed boats.

He sat on the sandy bank, back leaning against one of the several stone ruins along the shore and in the water, his long legs stretched out before him. As they watched, he gracefully stood and slowly walked towards them.

He was robed all in medium blue, and his pale golden hair and sharp silver eyes shone in the sunlight. He had very fair skin, pointed ears, and was quite tall, as in the fashion of the Firstborn. He reminded Frodo very much of the sun on a deep blue pool on a clear summer's day.

"I understand you have need to cross the water, Frodo Baggins," He spoke, and his voice was as smooth and sweet as a brook running over rocks.

"Y-yes, but our boats have been destroyed," Frodo replied. "How do you know my name?"

But instead of answering, the stranger just laughed. "There are more ways to cross water than by boat."

"My companion and I cannot swim," Frodo said. "Who are you?"

"I know this, although it may be in a Hobbit's best interest to learn." He gave a sweeping bow. "I am Nen, the keeper of this river. I have watched your Company since it departed Lórien, although I have been aware of you and your mission for a much longer time."

"A spy of the enemy to be sure, Mister Frodo!" Sam cried, fumbling with his little sword.

"No, Sam," Frodo said calmly, holding up a hand. He knew this Firstborn was not a servant of the Enemy, and indeed already had a suspicion of who he was. "Know you of Los and Mor?"

Nen laughed, his smiling silver eyes dancing. "So you have met my brothers," he said. "I thought you must have."

"Brothers!" Sam exclaimed. "How many of you are there?"

Nen laughed again. "Not many, brave Samwise. But come, time is running short if you wish to cross." He held a hand toward the water.

"But how—"

"Have faith, Chosen One," Nen said, walking towards the water. "There are higher Powers in this world than you know of."

Frodo did not know nor care to guess what he meant by _Chosen One _and_ higher Powers_, but he nearly laughed as Nen stepped right into the water. Did the Elf mean to walk right across the riverbed? It was calm enough at the shore, but it quickly grew deeper and the flow faster further out.

His laughter died on his lips, however, as Nen did not step _into_ the water, but rather _on top of it_!

Frodo blinked, as if to clear the trickery from his sight, but it remained. Perhaps the water was only an inch deep there…

Nen laughed at the Hobbits' identical expressions of surprise and disbelief. "Faith," he said again. "Come, follow me, for the time is short."

Frodo quickly climbed to his feet and walked to the water's edge with Sam as Nen continued to back away further into the water. Yet he stayed on top of it, as if he still stood on dry land.

Frodo took a hesitant step onto the water, then another and another when he did not sink. He could see the sandy ground now about a foot below where he was standing, yet still he remained atop the water. The Hobbits looked up Nen in amazement, but he only smiled in response and continued to walk.

"Mister Frodo, look!" Sam exclaimed needlessly.

The water beneath their feet was as smooth and cool as glass, yet as sturdy as solid rock. The water rushed by on either side of them, yet the narrow path they followed did not so much as ripple.

Frodo wondered greatly at the power of the Elf before him, who sang a song in the Grey Tongue of the sunlight on the water and green leaves as he walked ever before them. Surely if he possessed such powers, then so did his brothers Mor and Los. The hobbit was beginning to believe that maybe he should have simply trusted Los to bring them over the mountain safely in the first place and they could have avoided Moria altogether.

By this time they were safely across the wide lake and stood beside Nen. As soon as Sam had both feet upon the shore the last trace of their watery path disappeared, although it had been vanishing behind them as they walked, though they did not know it.

"There now, that was not so hard, was it?" Nen asked, smiling.

Frodo was still surprised, but managed to shake his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Nen reaching behind a tree and pulling out two large packs. "These are yours, I believe," he said, handing each to its respective owner. "I saved them and brought them across before the Orcs destroyed the boats."

"Th-thank you," Frodo managed, as Sam quickly examined the packs. They seemed to be undamaged, still loaded with their supplies as they had left them.

"You must be on your way now," Nen told them, "for even the slightest delay may change the course of things."

They shouldered their packs after bowing low to him. "You have my eternal gratitude, Master Nen," Frodo said in sincere thanks. "I do not know what I should have done without you."

"You are more than welcome, Ringbearer," Nen replied, and Frodo was not at all surprised that he knew of it. "Good speed on your journey. Eärendil shall always shine upon your path." He bowed and slipped away into the trees, vanishing from their sight.

Hours later, when the Hobbits stopped their march to rest and eat, Sam called to Frodo in surprise as he opened his pack. There, nestled on top of the _lembas_, was a small white stone, the perfect shape and size to fit in the palm of his hand.

Frodo quickly opened his own pack to find an identical stone, only blue. They glimmered like water in the sunlight, but shone like the sun when submerged in water. The two Hobbits treasured these parting gifts from Nen for the rest of their days.

End of chapter. Aww what a fluffy ending. Oh yeah, just thought I would mention that when I said 'just made Frodo love the Man all the more' it was definitely not in the romantic sense. Okie?

Hmm next chapter finally gets to the good stuff! Yay!


	7. Amarth

Sorry for the delay. I just got out of the habit of updating frequently. Mwaha. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Happy thanksgiving! Gobble gobble.

I got a LiveJournal account in this name. (see my bio for more details.) I would appreciate it if you stopped by, even though I only started it today.

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 7

Amarth

Aragorn raised his sword as the Uruk-hai advanced, then lunged forward to meet them. He held his own surprisingly well, considering the overwhelming odds, and quickly slew several of them before Legolas and Gimli suddenly appeared.

The figure in the trees nearly lurched forward at the sight of the Elf, but held himself back in time. Not yet…

The three together were making quick work of the Uruk-hai despite their larger size and skill than normal Orcs, but more kept coming in an endless tide.

But three warriors was not what the Uruks were after. A large part of the unit broke off to find the Halflings as their master had commanded, leaving only enough to deal with the warriors, as they thought.

The cloaked figure watched as many of the Uruks separated and charged off into the forest. He reluctantly pulled himself away from the scene before him. He knew what he had to do. These three could watch over themselves.

Turning, he quickly ran through the boughs of the trees with a grace worthy of the Firstborn, easily outrunning the slower Uruks until he found his target.

Two Hobbits stood among the trees, shouting wildly at the oncoming Uruk-hai, then running. From the corner of his eye, the observer saw as another Hobbit quickly ran in the opposite direction of his fellows, thankful for the diversion.

The silver-cloaked onlooker followed silently through the trees as the two Hobbits below ran on, leading the Uruk-hai further from their cousin and friend.

Turning his head, the being watched as a tall Man came running to the Hobbits' rescue, catching a descending Uruk axe and quickly retaliating. He watched as the three defended themselves against the enemy, and the Man, Boromir, blew his great horn for aid.

He saw as a large Uruk, the leader over the rest, pulled out a crudely fashioned black bow and fitted it with an arrow. His time had come.

Leaping down straight in front of the Uruk, barely even two meters in front of it, the cloaked being raised his hand palm outwards to the black beast.

Immediately, the arrow fell from the string to the ground, followed shortly by the bow. The Uruk stared with widened eyes at the new threat.

"You shall not harm him, creature of the darkness," the stranger said in a low voice. The Uruk's eyes widened even further before he fell to the ground dead. The other lowered his hand.

He could feel the Hobbits and Man's stares of wonder on him, but he ignored them, instead turning to the remaining Uruk-hai. Though his face was hidden in shadow by his hood, the foul creatures could feel his sharp eyes pierce through their black hearts and minds.

Several of them turned and ran from the imposing presence, but most stayed, more afraid of what their master would do to them should they return empty-handed. These growled and raised their weapons, charging at the tall stranger.

Merry and Pippin cowered behind Boromir, who stood ready for the onslaught with his sword in hand.

The being drew his cloak to one side, revealing only more silver-grey beneath, and unsheathed a long sword. The silver elven blade seemed to emit a light of its own, gathering the sun's rays and turning them to silver before throwing them back into the air.

The Uruks faltered in their advance at the revealing of this fearsome weapon, but were quick to charge again.

It was at that moment that Aragorn suddenly came crashing through the trees with a shout of _Elendil!_ in response to Boromir's horn call. He barely spared a glance toward the stranger before hewing into the Uruk-hai. He was obviously not of Orc-kind, and there would be time for questions later.

Legolas and Gimli were not long in following, and Boromir and the Hobbits quickly rejoined the fight. The Uruks did not even strike at Merry and Pippin; their weapons seemed to be more aimed at the bigger people, even though the two Hobbits felled a few of the dark beasts.

The stranger's long sword was a mere flash of silver as it readily cut through the dark flesh of the Uruk-hai. The tall warrior looked more as if he were hewing blades of grass than the tough creatures of the darkness.

Boromir saw movement from the corner of his eye, and, turning his head to it, saw it to be an enemy archer, bow already strung and aimed. He gave a shout of warning, but it was too late. The arrow was loosed, and sped on its way straight to the stranger's back.

Without even breaking stride, the warrior raised his arms up and back, so his sword was straight against his back. The blade caught the arrow neatly in its center, harmlessly deflecting it to the side. The Hobbits nearly dropped their swords in awe.

The stranger suddenly dropped to the ground, bringing his sword down on the head of an enemy with one hand and kicking its legs out beneath it. He grabbed a discarded scimitar from the forest floor and, turning, threw the clumsy weapon effortlessly back at the archer. The Uruk fell to the ground dead, the long weapon embedded in its face.

A group of a half-dozen Uruks took this opportunity to grab the two Hobbits and quickly run in the opposite direction of the warriors.

"Aragorn! Boromir!" The two Men looked up in surprise as the new being called their names. "The Hobbits! Go! We can finish these last few."

The two Humans immediately ran after the escaping Uruk-hai, leaving the last dozen to Legolas, Gimli, and the stranger. Among the five of them, the Uruks were made quick work of, and the Hobbits were safely returned from enemy hands.

Merry had suffered a nasty knock on the head though, but the stranger slowly passed his hand over it and declared it fine. To the Hobbit's own surprise, Merry felt the pain already lessened and could even feel the wound beginning to heal.

Legolas suddenly gasped. "I remember you!" he declared to the figure in silver. "You were there that day—six months ago, the battle…"

They could see him smile slightly beneath his hood, which by some miracle had stayed perfectly in place all during the battle. "Yes, it was I who you saw, and I am glad to see you fully recovered. A wound like that could have killed a man."

Legolas cocked his head slightly to the side. "Who are you?"

Reaching up, the stranger at last dropped his hood back. "I am called Amarth." He had a serious face surrounded by shockingly silver hair. His deep silver eyes looked as though they had seen too much in their time.

"Why have you been following me?" Legolas asked.

For a long moment the two Elves simply stared at each other, and no one spoke. Amarth had just opened his mouth when Merry suddenly cut in with, "Where's Frodo?"

"And Sam!" Pippin added, looking around.

"And Gandalf!" Gimli realized. They all started. The wizard was nowhere in sight, and none could remember seeing him since before they split up.

Amarth quickly raised his hands before they could all run off again. "Peace. Mithrandir is at the high seat. He is quite safe, at least as any of you could help."

"And Frodo and Sam?" Pippin asked in a small voice, perplexed by what the tall Elf was saying.

"They too are quite safe, for now, on their way to the Black Land. They are with my brother Nen as we speak," Amarth answered.

"Brother!" Gimli cried. "You are not also the brother of Los and Mor, are you?" Amarth gave a slight smile and nod. "I knew it!" Gimli exclaimed. "How many of you are there?" he asked, unwittingly copying Sam's earlier question to Nen.

Amarth hesitated. "Five…well, four."

"What happened to the last one?" Pippin asked softly.

Amarth turned silver eyes on the young Hobbit. "Perhaps the question you should be asking is what happened to us." He did not smile at the Company's puzzled expressions. "But now is not the time to speak of such things." He gestured into the trees before him. "Your leader returns."

A moment later Gandalf stepped into view of the remaining six of the Company. He looked very worn and haggard, as if he had just returned from a very long and tiresome journey.

"Gandalf!" Aragorn and Legolas quickly helped him to a fallen log where he sat for many long moments without speaking.

"Gandalf…?" Merry questioned. Amarth quickly held his arm before the Hobbit to prevent him from going to the wizard.

"He is fine," the Elf murmured. "Just let him rest a moment."

Gandalf finally looked up and briefly took notice of Amarth, not seeming very surprised to see another of the mysterious Elves.

"Gandalf?" Aragorn prodded gently. "What happened?"

"There were higher powers to contend with than mere Orc minions," Gandalf said simply, then turned his eyes back to Amarth. "And who is this?"

"His name's Amarth!" Merry quickly introduced, eager to help.

"He saved us from the Orcs!" Pippin exclaimed.

"Did he?" Gandalf smiled slightly. "I thought you might be here," he said to the silver elf. "I felt a great power, as with your brothers."

Amarth bowed his head slightly, then turned to the trees behind him. "Nen."

Nen suddenly came into sight as if he had been hiding invisible to the others the whole time. His silver eyes danced as they met Legolas's.

"Where's Frodo and Sam?" the two remaining Hobbits cried in unison.

Nen laughed that sweet, clear laugh. "Safe on the Eastern Shore, Master Perian. But now we should discuss the path of the remainder of the Fellowship."

"He is right," Gandalf said, standing with a grunt.

"We follow Frodo!" Merry exclaimed, surprised that it was not the obvious answer.

"We cannot all of us go with him," Gandalf stated. "I know Boromir intended to return to Minas Tirith, and perhaps Aragorn also, though I cannot decide for any of you."

"We will trust in whatever decision you make," Aragorn stated firmly, and the others of the Company nodded in agreement.

"And we cannot forget the other peoples of Middle-Earth," Gandalf continued. "There is still Saruman to deal with. What attacked today was only a very small part of his army, I feel. He will attack again."

Boromir did not seem to be paying attention to what was being said, his gaze to the ground and his eyes very far away. Amarth slipped unnoticed to his side, gently pulling him away from the others.

"The Ring is beyond your reach now," the Elf told him softly.

"I—I tried to take it…from Frodo," Boromir admitted, eyes still cast to the ground in shame.

"I know. But you did not." Amarth forced the Man to look him in the eyes with two fingers under his chin. "You are strong, and have a good heart. You will return to the White City. You will fight the darkness for your people, and good shall prevail. You shall be strong for your people, your city, your king."

Boromir straightened his shoulders and grasped his sword hilt. "For my king," he repeated, and for the first time in too long the light of hope shone again in his eyes. Amarth smiled encouragingly and turned back to the others.

"I will gladly follow you anywhere you would lead, Mithrandir," Legolas was saying.

"And I," Gimli agreed.

"I shall not now leave your side, old friend," Aragorn stated.

"And I," Boromir said, "shall follow my King and brother to the very ends of the world." Aragorn looked up, surprised, but nodded with a smile.

"I suppose if you are all going together, we cannot very well be separated now," Merry said, a little disappointed that they were most likely not going after Frodo.

"Very well," Gandalf said. "This war shall be fought on more than just one front. I feel it best that we continue on the Kingdoms of Men, while Frodo and Sam secretly invade Mordor. Hopefully we shall keep the eyes of both Sauron and Saruman on us and blind to all else."

Amarth slipped to Legolas's side. "I know you have many questions, and I feel that this is the time to speak, lest we never have another chance. If you would?" Legolas instantly nodded in agreement. "Nen." Amarth nodded to his brother, who nodded back in understanding, before leading Legolas away.

"You need not worry about the White Wizard for much longer," Nen began.

………End of chapter. MWAHA. I know, it was short. I also know that it's dangerous to keep both Boromir and Gandalf alive, but worry not, I have a plan. Of course it's AU! I did warn you, you k now. If you want canon, go read the book.

Next chapter—Legolas and Amarth have a talk. (DUN DUN DUUUNN) It's actually longer than this one. But don't worry—it's not _all_ just talking.


	8. Talks and Revelations

Sorry it's late, blah blah blah…Maybe I'll just stop apologizing each chapter. Although I do apologize in advance for the tackiness and fluffiness and sobiness of this chapter. …sigh…

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 8

Talks and Revelations

Amarth and Legolas walked until they were out of earshot from the rest of the Company. "Where shall I begin?" the silver Elf asked with a small smile.

"Who are you?" Legolas asked without hesitation. "What are you?"

"Ah, so you have guessed that my brothers and I are more than we appear. You are correct." He smiled, barely, but it was more sad than amused, as if he were remembering something that caused him great pain. "We are…well, I'm not quite sure what we are. I suppose you could think of us as unofficial Maiar. But many long years ago we were Elves, just like you." The smile faded completely.

"What happened?" Legolas asked, entranced.

"We died."

Legolas did not know what to say to that, so Amarth simply continued. "I am sure you have noticed that my brothers and I all have some power. When we returned to Arda, we were each granted the power over what had killed us. Los, snow and ice; Nen, the waters; Mor, the darkness."

"And you?" Legolas asked in a small voice.

"Yrch," he answered shortly, and did not elaborate.

"Why…why were you returned to life?"

"Illúvatar and the Valar took pity on us, for our great love for our youngest brother, who lived still. So we were granted life again and have been watching over him ever since, though he was unaware."

"And where is he now?" Legolas asked, even though a faint suspicion was beginning to form in his mind, however unbelievable.

Amarth could see the growing light of understanding ready to dawn in the other's eyes. This was the moment he had been waiting for for hundreds upon hundreds, even thousands, of years.

"He remained in Greenwood, for the most part, protecting his home and family against the growing shadow, becoming more than we could have ever hoped. Just recently, though, he went to Imladris and there joined a quest to destroy the One Ring of Power."

Tears had been growing in Legolas's eyes all while Amarth was speaking. "Telepsîr." He launched himself into his brother's arms. For many long minutes, they simply held each other, neither fighting the tears that fell freely.

"Why could you not tell me sooner?" Legolas finally asked.

"You were not ready. Believe me when I say that there were so many times over the years when we wanted to tell you so badly…"

"And father?"

Amarth closed his eyes. He missed his father just as badly as he had his brother. "I think…it would be best if Father did not know of us."

"What!" Legolas started up. "He grieved for you four so long! Your names are still an open wound to him!"

"Do you not think I know that?" Amarth returned, but his heart ached to hear another say it. "You were the only thing that has kept him alive all these years. If he knew that we had returned, only to lose us again so soon afterwards, it would surely kill him."

"What do you mean, lose you again?" Legolas asked in suspicion.

"We were given a task when we returned to Middle-earth," Amarth explained. "The time has almost come for the task to be completed, then I know we must return to Valinor."

"What is the task?" Legolas asked, trying not to think of how soon he would lose his recently re-discovered brothers.

"To destroy Saruman," Amarth answered quietly. "It is essential that we do this. You know that."

"But why must you leave?" Legolas asked, eyes again brimming.

Amarth quickly gathered him into another hug. "You are grown now, a warrior full capable of taking care of yourself. You no longer need us." He smiled, though his voice was choked. "Besides, we will all be in Valinor someday, and we'll be a complete family again, with Father and Mother, too."

"I'm sorry," Legolas suddenly sobbed.

"What ever for, little Greenleaf?" Amarth asked in surprise.

"No one ever comes right and says it, but I know that it is my fault you all died," Legolas gushed. "If it were not for me, you would not have ridden out and all those terrible things would not have happened, and everyone would have been spared so much heartache…"

Amarth firmly gripped the younger Elf's chin in his hand, forcing him to look him in the eyes. "Listen to me. That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. You were just a babe. You could not have stopped anything that happened. Understand? No one blames you."

Legolas nodded, casting his eyes to the ground. Amarth smiled gently. "Do you know our only regret was that you would never know us?"

Legolas looked back into his eyes. "But…I did. I-I never told anyone, but I can remember so distinctly silver eyes smiling down at me. I think that is why, when I first saw Los, then Mor, then you and Nen, I felt as though I should have known you from somewhere."

"Aye, little brother. You should have. I wish we could have been there for you, throughout the years." Amarth sighed wearily. "But it was not the will of the Valar. We cannot now change that. Now come, the others should be finished talking by now." Amarth stood, pulling Legolas up with him, but kept an arm around his shoulders as they headed back.

Nen was now sitting on the ground with the Hobbits and entertaining them by showing an old Elfling hand game he had played when he was young. They all looked up when Amarth and Legolas returned, Nen taking note of the faded tear tracks on both's faces.

Nen stood as Legolas quickly approached, and both threw their arms around the other in a tight embrace, ignoring the Fellowship's stares.

"Lindil," Legolas whispered.

"Aye, baby brother," Nen whispered back, clinging tightly to the other.

Legolas laughed slightly as he sniffled and pulled away. "Before today I would never have suspected I would be called that. But I rather like it."

"Um…guys?" Pippin interrupted the touching reunion. "What is going on here?"

"You were wondering what had happened to our fifth brother, Master Dwarf," Nen started.

"Yes…" Gimli looked puzzled. "But how did you…you weren't…" He looked suspiciously between Amarth and Nen. Both simply smiled.

"Legolas is our other brother," Amarth said.

The Company's eyes all widened in surprise. "I did not know you had any brothers, Legolas!" Aragorn exclaimed.

'Neither did I,' Legolas considered saying, but merely shrugged. "It is a long story."

Gandalf did not say anything, but he observed all from he sat quite forgotten on the fallen log.

"So…" Pippin began slowly. "Do you have any special powers?"

Legolas smiled. "I'm afraid not."

"Why not? Maybe you just do not know it. Can you fly?"

The Elf laughed. "I do not have any 'powers,' Master Peregrin."

"Oh." Pippin looked disappointed, but suddenly brightened with, "So what's your special power?" to Nen.

"I can bend the will of water to my own."

"Really? Wow. Sort of like how Los can control the snow?"

"Sort of." Nen smiled.

Bringing up Los had reminded Merry of something, and he shifted guiltily. "There's something we probably should have told you a long time ago. Mor—" Merry cut himself off, suddenly realizing that Mor was Legolas's brother too. Or rather, had been. He winced, and quickly blurted our, "Mor fell in Moria!"

The Hobbit expected to hear a shout of surprise, denial, even a gasp from Amarth or Nen, but nothing came. The rest of the Fellowship waited in uncomfortable silence as they awaited the brothers' reactions.

"No…he is not dead," Legolas said, smiling slightly. "I can feel it."

Pippin looked up in surprise to see all three Elves smiling. Did they not know…?

"Legolas is right," Amarth said. "Did you actually see him die?"

"Well, no, but—it was—a Balrog," the young Hobbit stuttered. "Aren't Balrogs—really…?"

Nen laughed at the Hobbit's confusion. "No, Master Perian. I can assure you that Mor is quite well." The Fellowship seemed to accept this, as the Elves all seemed quite certain.

"We have lingered here long enough," Amarth suddenly changed the subject before anyone else could say anything. "We should be on our way."

"But where are we going?" Pippin asked him.

"That has already been decided," Amarth smiled down on him. "Your company shall continue on to Rohan, then Minas Tirith in Gondor, to warn them of the growing threat. Nen and I shall go with you a while and meet Los and Mor on the way. We have business with Saruman."

"I am coming with you," Legolas immediately told the other Elf.

Seeing that there was no dissuading Legolas at the moment, Amarth merely shook his head. "We shall discuss it later."

……………No sooner had the company of nine reached open ground then there came up a shout, and Los and Mor suddenly appeared at the top of the rise before them. They sat astride two great white horses, and slowly made their way downhill to the others.

"I apologize for our tardiness," Mor said when they were close enough, "but I had to wait for Snow here." He gestured to the white-clad Elf beside him.

A moment later he was off his horse and had Legolas grasped in a firm embrace. "My brother."

"Ransûl. I am glad…" Legolas faltered.

"I know." Mor just smiled.

"What about me?"

Legolas quickly turned and grabbed in Los up in a hug. "Laurëfin. Forgive me."

Los smiled, savoring the embrace. "How you have grown, little brother! The last time you touched me was only to grasp my little finger!"

Legolas laughed and pulled away. "So, did you bring enough horses for all of us?"

"As a matter of fact, we did," Mor replied. "They await us over the hill."

Sure enough, there were three more white horses, along with three brown ones, already packed with supplies. The Elves took the white ones, while Merry and Boromir, Pippin and Aragorn, and Gimli and Gandalf shared the others.

After an hour of hard galloping they slowed to a walk to rest the horses. Legolas rode in the middle of his four brothers, talking non-stop with them. "And then that time when I was but a little child and had escaped my nurse, and nearly fell in the Enchanted River but the waters suddenly parted and I fell onto dry ground instead!" Legolas exclaimed all in one breath. "Was that you?"

Nen laughed out loud. "Ai, Legolas! You should have seen your face! You looked as if the water might next come alive and swallow you whole! You ran yelling all the way back to the palace."

Legolas blushed slightly as his brothers laughed merrily, but could not help joining in. "Adar told me it was just a dream. I went back to the River every day for a month just to check it. I finally convinced myself it was just a dream, after all. But thank you. I know now that I would have surely drowned otherwise."

There was a short pause, then, "That time I was out on patrol! Our scouts came back and told us we were surrounded by Orcs and hopelessly outnumbered. But they never attacked and we never heard of them again."

Amarth smiled softly at Legolas. "It was our job to protect our little brother, if we could do nothing else."

Legolas suddenly gasped. "That Yule two winters before the River incident! I told everyone it was to going to snow, but they all said I was silly for thinking so. But it did! That was your doing, was it not, Laurëfin?"

Los smiled. "Aye. Amarth did not wish me to—he said it was too conspicuous. But it was more than worth it to watch you that day. Do you remember it?"

Legolas smiled fondly at the ancient memory, as clear as if it had happened the day before. "Aye. I finally convinced Ada to take the day off, and he spent the entire day playing in the snow with me."

"I remember how he would push you down the hill on that old shield," Amarth reminisced.

"And your shrieks of laughter as you would fly into a pile of snow at the base," Mor smiled. "You were so happy that day."

"But you could not pull the shield back up the hill because you were so tiny, and Ada would end up having to carry you both back up," Nen laughed.

Legolas only briefly wondered how they all knew about it, but decided it really did not matter. "That was a good day," he agreed. "Oh! That time I was lost in the forest at night, barely more than a child. But, I remember, the Moon came out from behind the clouds and perfectly illuminated my path home," he said to Mor.

"I only regret that I could not have done more for you that night," his brother replied.

"Do not. I got home safely, thanks to you." Legolas smiled again, thinking over all his life, and realizing how much his brothers had been watching over him. "Did you four really have nothing better to do than watch me my whole life?"

But what could be better than protecting our little brother from himself?" Amarth grinned.

"Plenty of things. And I was not really that bad, was I?"

"Of course not," Los quickly assured. "You always were much too solemn…" All five fell silent.

Suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings, the Elves realized that they were stopped, and probably had been for a while, and everyone was staring at them. Merry and Pippin were sniffling.

Aragorn cleared his throat. "We will rest here tonight." Indeed, it was already dusk.

……………A couple hours later and the five brothers were still talking, though they had switched from Common to Elvish, speaking so rapidly that even Gandalf could have barely kept up had he wanted to.

"How long are they going to talk?" Pippin asked the Wizard.

"Hush! Patience, young Took," Gandalf replied in a low voice, not wishing to disturb the Elves. "They have nearly three thousand years to catch up on."

"Three—three thousand?" Pippin repeated in amazement, looking over at the seemingly young Elves. He noticed that the one in blue—Nen—was looking back at him and smiling—mischievously? The Elf nodded to Boromir, who was just raising his water skin to take a drink.

No water touched his lips, though. "What the—?" the Man exclaimed in bewilderment, shaking the flask. "I filled this just this morning and have not drank half since!"

"I guess you drank more than you realized," Gimli, who sat nearby, offered. "It was a long ride."

"I suppose so. I will go refill it at the stream now." Neither Man nor Dwarf noticed the tiny river of water creeping along the ground…

…until it suddenly leapt up and splashed Gimli full in the face.

Pippin fell back laughing as the Dwarf spluttered and yelled in absolute surprise. All the others turned to see what the commotion was, then they too started laughing as one by one they realized what had happened.

For a moment, Gimli looked murderously at Nen as he at last pieced together what had happened. But then he too burst into loud rounds of laughter, probably thinking it best not to get on the bad side of four brothers who could control nature.

………………The Company had been riding steadily for nearly an hour the next day when Legolas repeated to his brothers that he was going with them to Isengard.

"No, Legolas," Amarth sighed.

"But I want to help!"

"You will be of more help with the Fellowship," Los told him gently. "I feel they will have need of as many good warriors as they can get their hands on soon."

"Coming with us is much too dangerous, Legolas," Nen told him.

"Danger!" Legolas exclaimed. "On the one hand you tell me it is too dangerous to accompany you, yet on the other you seek to send me into battle with mortals! You do not think this entire Quest has been dangerous, that I have not faced danger at every turn?"

"But this is a different danger, Legolas. You know this," Amarth said. "You have fought Orcs before—many of them. But this is a Wizard we are speaking of, an Istar, one of the very Maiar!"

"Are you not nearly Maiar yourselves now?" Legolas argued.

"That may be so, but you are not," Los reasoned.

"You would only be in danger the entire time—a hindrance to us," Amarth stated firmly, though it hurt him to say so. Of course he did not mean it. He knew his youngest brother's capabilities, and knew that he could take care of himself well enough while they dealt with Saruman. But the Istar was not to be underestimated, and he feared for Legolas.

The youngest Elf stiffened and looked away.

"Forgive me, Legolas," Amarth said softly, grasping his brother's hand. "I did not mean it that way. I only fear for your safety. We could not bear it if anything were to happen to you."

Legolas looked back at him, eyes misty. "I will not be parted form you. Not again."

"Please, baby brother," Amarth pleaded hopelessly, using the familiar term in one last vain effort.

"I will not be parted from you," Legolas repeated.

"I think it would be good if he came along with us," Mor spoke up for the first time. "After all, we shall be more than busy with Saruman, shall we not? It would be good to have someone keeping on eye on other things."

"He is right," Nen agreed. "And besides, he shall not be in _that_ much peril. We will take care of most of the Orcs before Saruman."

"But who will keep on eye on _you_, Legolas?" Amarth murmured to himself.

"I shall be fine, you will see." Legolas smiled brightly and pressed his brother's hand.

Los nodded in agreement. "I do not wish for us to be parted, either. The five of us have not been together since Legolas was born."

Amarth sighed again, but smiled slightly. He had not been looking forward to telling his brother goodbye again. "Very well. You shall come with us to Isengard."

End of chapter. How many of you honestly did not see it coming that Legolas was their brother? I tried to be subtle but apparently it didn't work.

I hope I didn't make anyone sick or cry from the total fluffiness of this chapter. Haha, that bit with Legolas saying "You did this! And this! Was that you?" was fun to write. And that bit with Gimli getting splashed. Thought it was stupid? Better get used to it…dun dun duuun. Eck. I'm really not happy with this chapter, nor the next one. Eck eck. Uh-oh. I only have one more chapter written. And there's a 99.9 chance that that will not be posted on time either, since I'm making a multi-state move this week. Maybe I can type it up in the car, though…

Please check out my journal on Livejournal! It's this same name, Daethule.


	9. The Task Appointed

Surprise! I beat the odds! Even a day early! Whoot! Go me! I'm on the road right now with nothing better to do, so I decided I could type up this chapter. No, I'm not driving. Lol. Oh yes, if any of you are having trouble keeping the brothers apart, I put a bit about them in my bio (their names, their original names, the meaning of their names, and a couple words about them.)

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 9

The Task Appointed

The following day the Company split, the five Elves directing their course to Isengard in the northwest, and the remaining Fellowship continuing on to Edoras in Rohan in the southwest.

"Good luck, my Elvish friend," Gimli told Legolas in parting from atop Gandalf's horse. "May we meet again in less troubled times."

"Have faith, friend Gimli. We shall meet again." Legolas smiled briefly and turned to Aragorn. "I am sorry I could not accompany you to whatever this Quest might have next in store for you."

"I understand. You must go with them." Aragorn smiled and grasped Legolas's arm. "Hannon le."

"Namárië." He nodded to Boromir and mounted.

"I hope you win at Isengord!" Pippin called from atop Aragorn's horse.

"It's Isengarb!" Merry corrected from behind Boromir. "And of course they're going to win! They have this Sonnaman guy outnumbered five to one!"

Legolas laughed. "Be safe yourselves, Master Hobbits."

"Farewell, sons of Thranduil," Gandalf told them. Then in a low voice he said to Legolas with an encouraging smile, "I hope you find what you are looking for."

The Elf smiled back at him. "I already have."

"Namárië!" Amarth called, his horse springing away.

Legolas nodded once more in farewell before following after his brothers. The Company watched until they had disappeared from their sight, the last great Elven princes.

……………The black walls of Isengard rose up ominously before the five riders. The gates stood open as if expecting visitors, though there were many heavy footprints all along the outgoing road, showing recent use.

"This is it, my brothers," Amarth said quietly, gazing at the tall black tower. "I feel our doom awaits us here, whether for good or for evil."

Legolas took a deep breath. "Well, there's nothing for it."

Amarth halted his brother before Legolas could move. "The Wizard cannot be defeated by strength of arms alone. I would have you remain here, out of sight and thought, for Saruman is treacherous."

"I know you just wish to protect me, but I shall not now be swayed. I would go with you, my brothers, to the very endings of the world were it the death of me. Why should we now be separated here?" Legolas replied, spurring his horse forward.

The remaining four brothers glanced at each other meaningfully and Nen nodded in understanding before following Legolas. They would have rather died than see their youngest brother come to any harm.

The sight that greeted them within the Ring of Isengard burned the Elves' hearts. They had heard tales of the beauty of Isengard, with its luscious gardens and bright trees. Now the land around Orthanc was a barren wasteland spotted with deep pits and chasms that smelt of Orc and poured forth foul smoke—the forgeries of a mad wizard.

Few of the many working Orcs seemed to notice them, and those that did remained frozen in place, following the strangers only with their eyes. Legolas glanced to Amarth, but could not tell whether he had anything to do with this or not.

"Look," Mor whispered, gesturing to the very top of the black tower. A tall figure with white hair and beard, clad in glimmering white robes and clutching a black staff, stared down at the Elves as they slowly road forward.

"Saruman," Los murmured, no emotion apparent in his soft voice.

The five halted when they came near the base of the tower, gazing up at the Wizard. "Saruman!" Amarth called up. "Will you not come down to us?"

"Why? So you may strike me down upon my very doorstep?" the White Wizard sneered. "I know who you are and why you are here, sons of the Valar! Ah, but who is this tag-along? Found a waif along the roadside and decided to take him in? Well he cannot help you now," he said, gesturing to Legolas.

Amarth pressed his lips into a tight line, but otherwise ignored the insult to his brother. "Will you not come down from your perch, Istar, and speak with us face-to-face?"

"Do not tell me you wish now for peace!" Saruman scoffed.

"Call off your armies," Amarth replied. "Call back your Orcs from this war and we shall have mercy upon you."

"I do not need anyone's mercy!" Saruman shouted, becoming wroth.

"This is your last chance," Amarth warned in a firm voice. "One way or another, we _shall_ have peace."

Saruman cried out, raising his staff. Many Orcs suddenly appeared from the pits, screeching and running towards the five Elves. Legolas immediately drew his bow, but his brothers made no move to follow likewise. Amarth merely nodded to Nen.

Nen turned to the high dam holding off the Isen river and raised a hand, closing his eyes. There was a rush, as of a great water drawing back suddenly, then silence reigned for a long moment.

Without warning, the dam burst asunder as the waters rushed forth in a mighty wave. The water spread out as it flowed, but, as Legolas noted with widened eyes, the bulk of it was still headed straight towards them. He fought the urge to run, instead keeping his horse rooted in place, having faith in his brother.

Nen slowly brought his other hand up, and just before the rush of water could crash into them and sweep them away, it split into two, rising high around them. But they remained safely dry as the water rushed about them, rejoining again once past the five to form a protective circle.

The Orcs ran screaming from the torrent, but could not escape it. The waters filled the Ring of Isengard, drowning the Orcs and smashing their crude machines. A great steam rose from the pits, covering the sky above them in a foul haze.

Nen at last slumped forward slightly on his horse as he let his hands drop. "Lindil!" Legolas cried in alarm, grabbing his brother's arm.

"I am fine," Nen smiled in assurance. "I just…have never done anything that big before."

"Impressive," a deep voice interrupted, and they looked back up to Saruman. "But do you seek to drown me upon my high tower? I do not think you can reach me."

"I beg to differ," Nen uttered, but Amarth clapped his own hand over that of his brother's.

"No. Remember the plan," he whispered. Nen nodded, withdrawing his hand and straightening.

"Plan?" Legolas queried. "Why was I not told of this plan?"

The water, now calmer, drew back from all around the base of Orthanc, wrapping its way all around the tower. The smooth path then morphed itself into steps, making a pathway all the way to the top.

Legolas dismounted as his brothers did, moving to follow after them to the living stairs.

"You were not told," Nen said, not turning to face him, "because you are not coming."

Before Legolas could react, a small stream of water was suddenly wrapped around his wrists, as touch as chains but unbreakable. "Let me go!" he shouted in disbelief and anger.

"I am sorry, little brother," Amarth replied softly, "but this is the way it must be."

Legolas struggled vainly as his brothers quickly mounted the first of the stairs, but could not free himself. At last when the four had ascended about twenty feet, Legolas's bonds melted away, and he sprang forward to the stairs. Just before he could touch them, however, they too fell away, and continued to disappear behind the feet of Mor, who walked last.

Legolas cried out in helplessness, as all he could do now was sit back and watch.

The four brothers climbed higher and higher as they wound their way up the watery stairs. Saruman also could do little but watch as they neared him at the top of the tower. He grasped his staff tightly, nervously watching the four Elves.

They soon reached the top, Saruman standing ready to meet them. The water spread to form a circular platform all around the top of the black tower, so the brothers could easily surround him.

The last of the stairs melted away as the Elves stepped again onto solid ground, standing with their backs each to one of the pinnacles of Orthanc, forcing Saruman to stand in the middle. His hands wrung his staff, but he sneered at Amarth as the Elf spoke.

"Too long have your ways continued unchecked, Saruman of the Istari."

Legolas watched from the ground as his brothers took up their positions against the wizard, but could not see much from his point of view. Orthanc was simply too tall, enabling him to see only one edge of the very top. Perhaps if he retreated to the gates…But the way was treacherous, now covered in water; but he also wished to be close should anything happen.

Dark clouds were quickly gathering overhead, rolling towards Orthanc. Legolas cried in dismay as the peak of the tower was surrounded by the dark clouds, obscuring those within them from view. More black clouds settled over the entire sky, making all dark and grey. The wind picked up, stirring the waters all around him, and his hair whipped about his face.

But Legolas kept his eyes steadfastly fixed on the area of dark clouds around Orthanc, determined to remain there for as long as need be.

End of chapter. (winces) I apologize for the entire water thing…but oh well! MWAHA!

Um…that was the last chapter I have written. So I really will try to force myself to write the next some time this week. Actually, it's been so long, I've forgotten most of what I had planned for the rest of this story. teehee.

I think there's only gonna be a couple more chapters, maybe one more then an epilogue. I have several more stories in the making, though. But after this I was thinking of writing a short piece based around this one, sort of humourish. It will be all about the four brothers after they died and returned again, testing out their powers and such.


	10. Now Completed

I am soooo very sorry for the tremendously long wait you had to suffer, but my inspiration took a rather extended vacation without warning. Also, I finally finished this story (throws a party), but the epilogue (next chapter) is really short, so I will add the POTE Prequel preview to it instead of this one, like I promised. But I'll post the epilogue on Sunday, so you won't have to wait long!

Also, sorry if the fight scene seems a bit whooo, but it's kinda hard to write a four-against-one without the four winning right away. Guess who the hero is going to be! Go on, guess!

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 10

Now Completed

Saruman raised his staff before his foes, warily glancing at the surrounding black clouds. He snarled at Amarth. "You cannot frighten me with your petty magic. I am one of the Istar, more powerful than you could ever imagine."

"Whether that be or no, the Valar have set us a task to do, and we shall complete it," Amarth replied in a level voice. "Your time is over."

Saruman gave a cry and leapt at him, black staff raised to strike. Amarth instantly unsheathed his sword and brought the silver blade up, easily blocking. He pushed Saruman away so the Wizard stumbled back to the middle. Amarth advanced and Saruman leveled his staff at the Elf.

Nen shouted in warning and jumped forward, bow raised to shoot. Saruman snapped black eyes to him, jerking his staff around. Nen felt as though a troll had slammed into him, sending him flying back into the pillar he had been standing against. He slid down with a breathless groan, head falling forward and bow slipping from suddenly numbed fingers.

Saruman turned back to Amarth just in time to block a heavy blow. They remained locked that way for one moment that seemed to stretch forever, as Mor unsheathed his twin knives in a whirl of movement and Los shed his outer robes, revealing a long silver dagger at his side.

The White Wizard spun away from them, purposefully kicking Nen's bow over the edge as he did so, though the Elf did not seem to notice. Los leapt at Saruman with his blade drawn, forcing him away from Nen and nearly over the edge of the tower himself. Seeing himself cornered, Saruman blocked another strike from Amarth before bringing up the butt of his staff to strike Mor in the face, causing him to stumble back.

Saruman sprang through the gap in his attackers, coming around behind them before they knew what was happening. Now they stood by the edge, and Saruman pressed forward, taking advantage of this.

Mor sought to come around behind the Wizard while he was distracted by Amarth and Los, but Saruman noticed this and brought his staff up just as the dark Elf was about to attack, catching the silver blades. He gave his staff a vicious twist, sending one of the knives flying, only to land at Nen's feet.

Turning, Saruman let go of one end of his staff, bringing it across Los' neck. With one smooth movement, he stood behind the Elf, now tightly gripping the dark staff across his neck. Los was forced to drop his dagger as he brought both hands in a useless effort to pry the staff away from his throat.

Amarth and Mor started forward in alarm, but froze at their brother's pained gasp. Saruman only gave a smiling sneer. "Drop your weapons," he commanded, "or I will snap his neck where he stands."

Los cast the Wizard a sidelong glance, teeth clenched against the pain. He released his grip on the staff with one hand, bringing his elbow as forcefully as he could into Saruman's abdomen.

Saruman gasped and loosened his grip on his staff, nearly doubling over from the pain. Los pushed him away and grabbed up his dagger again. Mor held him back, noting the way he still gasped for breath, as Amarth again attacked the Wizard, trying to take advantage of his momentary pain.

The White Wizard was still nearly doubled over, but saw Amarth spring at him, sword raised and poised to strike. Unnoticed, the Istar's hand slipped to his waist and grasped a short dagger in his belt, hidden by his cloak.

As soon as Amarth was upon him, he straightened, pulling the dagger from its sheath and thrusting it forward. The Elf came to an abrupt halt, sword still in the air, and his brow furrowed. Saruman only snarled in satisfaction and thrust the blade in deeper. Amarth opened his mouth, but no sound came out. All seemed to have gone deathly quiet on the tower top. Los and Mor could only watch with widened eyes as Amarth fell back and lay there unmoving, the knife still imbedded in his abdomen up to the hilt.

"No!" Mor shouted, turning his horrified gaze to the sneering Wizard. His shock melted into anger at sight of the evil Istar, and raising his knife, rushed forward with a loud cry.

"Mor, wait!" Los cried, but in vain.

Anger fuelled the dark Elf's movements, and Saruman was hard put to stave off the flurry of movement, especially when Los joined him a moment later.

Unnoticed by any of them, Nen shook his head to clear his vision, Mor's shout having revived him. His gaze first caught the three fighting, then fell to the figure lying motionless at their feet. His eyes widened as he saw the knife hilt protruding from Amarth's stomach and the blood pooling around him. Nen immediately felt for his bow, but when he did not find it, he at last noticed the knife lying discarded at his feet.

Instantly recognizing it as Mor's, he grasped it and looked back to the three fighting just in time to see the dark-haired Elf receive a solid blow to the temple from Saruman's staff, sending him sprawling and leaving Los to fight alone.

Only hesitating a moment, Nen grasped the borrowed knife by the blade and shouted, "Los! Down!" Fortunately Los did not think twice to obey the order, as years of being a warrior had taught him. He threw himself to the ground, just as the blade cut the air above his head. He sprang up again at Saruman's cry of pain to see the Wizard clutching his shoulder, blood seeping between his fingers. The knife lay behind him.

Nen cursed at the miss, struggling to his feet. His back ached fiercely from the force of the Wizard's earlier blow.

Still, Saruman brought his staff up to block Los' attack, now wielding it with only one hand. Los saw the opening he had been waiting for and thrust his dagger forward. The Wizard twisted away just in time, however, bringing the head of his staff smashing down on Los' wrist in the process, forcing the Elf to drop his dagger. Saruman did not wait for retaliation, but quickly brought his staff up, where it met Los' jaw with a solid crack and sent him falling backwards, eyes half closed.

Saruman grinned in satisfaction at his three downed opponents, turning to the only one left standing. Eyes wide, Nen suddenly realized that he was completely weaponless.

Setting his jaw, Nen waited until the moment Saruman had raised his staff to strike, then dove under it, and rolling once, was at Amarth's side. He forced himself not to look at his wounded brother, for he knew then that he would lose all resolve. Instead, he grabbed up Amarth's long silver sword and brought it up in one swift swipe across Saruman's back.

The Wizard cried out in pain and anger again and brought his staff around to squarely meet Nen's next attack. The two stayed locked that way for long moments, matched strength for strength.

Breathing a prayer to the Valar, Nen gave an icy glare to the Wizard and stated in a level voice, "Saruman, your staff is broken." Then he pulled his sword back, swung it once above his head, and brought it crashing down on the head of the black staff.

There was a loud crack and the spiked head broke off and fell to the ground, leaving Saruman staring helplessly at his broken staff. The Wizard stumbled back a few paces, dropping the useless dark wood.

Nen advanced after him, sword ready to strike again. Now that the official business was at last concluded, he had a personal score to settle. He grabbed Saruman by the throat, sword poised above his hand. "Nobody harms my brothers and gets away with it. Nobody."

Saruman's eyes widened to a near-impossible size as he saw the gleam in his opponent's eye. He stumbled back in fear, not having noticed where he was standing. He flailed his arms and cried out as his feet met only air.

Nen watched as he went over the edge, leaning out to see what happened. He was only slightly disappointed that he had not killed the Wizard himself, but comforted by the fact that he had brought about his momentary death.

Saruman never reached the ground, however. Nen could only grimace in disgust as Saruman was impaled on one of the spiked outcroppings of the tower about a hundred feet below.

The Elf turned away from the edge, stumbling to where Amarth lay and collapsed to his knees beside him, the rush of battle beginning to wear off. Nen grabbed Los' discarded robes nearby and pressed it to the wound, not daring to remove the knife yet. There was already too much blood…

A shocked cry made him look up from his work, and he was surprised to see Legolas standing before him, holding Nen's bow. The younger Elf had rushed forward as soon as he had seen it drop to the ground from above. Recognizing it as Nen's, he had forced open the doors of Orthanc, surprised to find them unlocked. Legolas had found a staircase as quickly as he could, killing whatever Orcs along the way, until he had come to a secret trap door at the very top of the tower.

Legolas ran to Amarth, dropping to his knees beside the wounded Elf. "What happened?" he asked of Nen, quickly taking in the extent of the injury.

"Saruman," Nen replied simply with a grim frown. Legolas looked about as though he expected to see the White Wizard lying somewhere near. He found only his other two brothers and a small black and white spiked thing. "He is defeated," Nen assured. "There lies the head of his staff."

Legolas only nodded and searched through his pack for bandages, which he now was glad he had thought to bring up with him. He removed Los' cloak from around the wound and sighed deeply. Then he carefully grasped the hilt of the knife and began to slowly pull it out.

Nen sat by ready with the bandages and applied them as soon as the knife was out. Legolas gave the weapon one quick glance to make certain that nothing was amiss before angrily casting it away. "Lindil, search in my pack for some _ûserg_ to slow the bleeding." Nen easily found what he was looking for, handing the bunch to Legolas.

"You do come prepared." He smiled slightly.

Legolas crushed the leaves and spread them into the wound, then layered on more bandages. "That is all I can do for him now."

Nen smiled encouragingly. "I am sure it will be enough. He is strong." He offered the younger the bloodied white cloak. "Los will not mind. It is already soiled."

Legolas grinned and cleaned off his bloody hands on it. "Los and Mor?"

"They are alright. Just a bad bump to the head is all. Might do them some good."

Legolas noted the way that Nen swayed even as he sat. "You should sleep now. I can see that you are weary."

"But—"

"I will watch him. Do not worry yourself. All is quiet." Nen relented and lay down where he was, asleep in seconds, eyes nearly closed in exhaustion.

Los sat up just then, groaning and shaking his head to clear his vision. Legolas was at his side in a moment, grasping his shoulder and telling him to relax. Los squinted at him. "Nen?" He blinked. "Oh, hello, Legolas. Where are the others? What has happened? Is Saruman defeated?"

"Yes, everything is fine. The others are resting, and Saruman is dead," Legolas answered, examining the forming bruise on the other's jaw. He abandoned it for Mor a moment later, however, as the darker Elf moaned and raised his fingers to his temple, which Legolas just then noticed was bloody.

"Do not move," he instructed, gently inspecting the raised gash. "You seem to have suffered a nasty knock to the head."

"Saruman did that with his staff," Los explained.

Legolas nodded. "I will get the whole story later." Then to Mor, "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Legolas…where is that from?" Los interjected, pointing to his bloody sleeves.

The youngest glanced at Amarth, lying behind Los and Mor. The white Elf followed his gaze and gasped, scrambling to his eldest brother's side. Mor pushed himself to his knees and crawled the few paces, not bothering to stand.

"Is he alright?" Los asked in concern, feeling Amarth's neck for a pulse.

"I have done all I can," Legolas answered. "I believe he will be fine."

"That demon did this," Mor ground out, fisting his hands by his sides.

On the other side of Amarth, Nen was awoken by all the noise and slowly sat up, catching the last words. "He is dead now, Ransûl. There is nothing more you can do."

"That does not change what he did," Mor muttered angrily, standing and looking about. He found the black staff head and kicked it as hard as he could, sending it flying well over the edge of the tower. He watched its descent, his eyes catching something else. "What is that?"

The other three were at his side in a moment, peering down at the tattered grey rags caught on one of the outcroppings of the black tower. "That is…that is where Saruman was," Nen murmured.

"You are certain he was dead?" Legolas asked, wondering if Nen had also suffered a head injury.

"Absolutely. He could not have survived that."

"So where did he go?" Mor asked.

"He has passed," Los answered softly, turning away in respect for the once great Istar. The others nodded in understanding and also turned away from the edge.

"You should all rest now," Legolas told them, frowning at the disagreeing spark he could see in each of their eyes. "Do not make me use sleeping herbs on you. I brought plenty."

Nen was already sifting through Legolas's pack, eyes widening in surprise. "Legolas! What are you planning to do, drug an entire colony of Dwarves?"

Legolas snatched the pack away, grinning mischievously. "Mayhap, and I would prefer to have some remaining after I am finished with you, so save me the trouble and go to sleep."

The others obediently lay down around Amarth, making themselves as comfortable as possible. "Oh, and Legolas?" Nen said tiredly. "Tell me when you are planning to take over that Dwarf colony. Father would be proud."………

………Silver eyes slowly blinked open to a lightening sky and two black stone peaks. The ground beneath him was hard, but his head was pillowed on something soft. He thought he heard a low murmuring in the Grey Tongue, but it had stopped as soon as he had opened his eyes.

"Telepsîr."

He looked up to see a pair of silver eyes identical to his own looking down at him, their owner's soft face framed by golden hair, rosy in the early morning light. "Legolas."

"Yes. How do you feel? Does it hurt much?"

As if reminded that it was there, the wound in his stomach flared up in pain. He gave a half smile. "Only when I breathe."

Legolas crushed some herbs and sprinkled them into a water skin. "Drink this. It will help to ease the pain."

"Saruman is no more," Amarth stated rather than asked as he sipped at the water.

"Yes. I still have not heard the entire tale, but I believe it was Lindil who dealt the final blow," Legolas answered.

"Lindil? He is alright then?" Amarth asked in concern. "That was a heavy blow given him by Saruman."

"He was injured?" Legolas's brows furrowed. "He did not say anything."

"Then he is probably alright," Amarth grinned. Lindil had never been one to especially trivialize his wounds. "Where are they?"

"Lying around you. I finally convinced them to sleep." Legolas smiled as at an inside joke. "It is nearing dawn. You have been asleep since yesterday afternoon."

"I am feeling much better now."

"I should think so. At least you are not still bleeding all over the top of Orthanc."

"Why, Legolas, you've developed a sense of humor!"

"Perish the thought!" Legolas laughed. "Too much time around you four, I'm afraid."

"Certainly not me or Los," Amarth replied, mock-offended.

"That is true enough." Legolas smiled and absently twisted a stray lock of silver hair around his finger. "You should get a bit more sleep before the others awake."

"Sounds good…" Amarth's eyes started drifting closed before opening once again. "Legolas, who were you talking to? I heard you speaking when I awoke."

"You," the younger answered simply.

"About what?"

"Nothing…" He waited until the eyes were half closed and his breathing was deep and even. "And everything." ………

………The other three brothers woke shortly after dawn, Mor yawning loudly and immediately stating his hunger. Legolas laughed, easing Amarth's head out of his lap. "I am afraid I shall have to go down to the horses for that."

"Be off with you, then!" Mor waved him away with a mischievous smile, earning him a smack on the back of his head from Los.

"How much longer must we stay on this tower top, anyway?" Nen asked, glaring at the offending black rock. "The stone is cold and unwelcoming."

"I do not think we should move Telepsîr for another day or two," Legolas replied.

"How is he?" Los asked quietly.

"Better. He awoke not long ago and I gave him something to help the pain."

"And you did not wake us!" Mor exclaimed.

"Nay. You needed your rest just as much as he." Legolas gave him a stern glare, though his eyes were laughing. "Now, if your highnesses will excuse me, I will go fetch them some food." He opened up a trap door in the middle of the tower, previously unnoticed by the brothers, and he disappeared through. After several minutes they saw him at the horses, selecting a couple of the packs. Then he disappeared back into the tower.

"Perhaps we should go help him," Los suggested.

"You two go on ahead," Nen declared, throwing himself dramatically backwards. "Oh, I am horribly injured!" He looked back at them a moment later, a gleam in his merry eyes. "Besides, someone must stay behind to look after our dear eldest brother."

Los rolled his eyes heavenward with a sigh, but smiled. It was not long after that Legolas reappeared with two of the food packs. He handed out a few pieces of _lembas_, instructing them to eat it all as he changed Amarth's bandages.

Nen rolled onto his stomach, absently munching at his wafer as he poured a little water from his water skin onto the black stone. Legolas raised an eyebrow, interested to see what he was doing.

Before his eyes, the small puddle of water morphed into tiny figures like people, equipped with little swords and shields. Los sighed as the two little men began dueling. "You are so childish, Lindil."

Nen only smiled, keeping his eyes on the fighting figures. They danced about, swinging their swords in exaggerated movements, blocking with their shields. After a minute of this, one of them plunged his sword into the other, who staggered about with the water-sword in him before exploding into a shower of droplets. The victor began to do a little dance, capering about and causing Legolas to burst out laughing.

But suddenly the little man stopped dancing, frozen through. Nen glared up accusingly at Los, but the other was merely looking innocently about at the sky and surroundings. "Envy!" Nen declared. "_So_ childish!"………

………Another day of inactivity passed atop Orthanc before Amarth insisted he was fine enough to move. As all of them were eager to be away from the tower, they relented and started down through the trapdoor. Amarth assured his brothers that he was well enough to walk on his own, though he leaned heavily on Legolas and their progress was slow. Finally after about three score of the narrow, winding steps, the younger Elf could see that Amarth was wearying quickly and insisted he carry him, since Legolas was the only one without injury.

Finally they were outside again, the bright sun dazzling their eyes after their long descent in the dark stone tower. After making certain that Amarth was comfortable on his horse, Legolas turned back inside, explaining that something in one of the side rooms had caught his eye.

A few long minutes later he returned again, clutching two huge black keys on a massive key ring. "The keys of Orthanc," Los murmured as Legolas twisted the keys into the doors to lock them.

"Who knows what priceless treasures of ancient lore are hidden away in there," Nen sighed. "I would that I had a hundred days to search it, though that should not be enough."

"Which is exactly why these keys will be safely delivered to Mithrandir," Legolas laughed. "So plundering villains such as yourself do not take up a permanent residence here."

At the mention of returning to Gandalf and the others, a gloomy silence fell on the group. "I suppose that I am to return to the Fellowship now, and you cannot come with me," Legolas murmured. Amarth merely nodded.

"We have completed our appointed task," Los said softly. "It was the only reason we were allowed to return at all. Now our borrowed time is over."

"Will I ever see you again? In Valinor?" Legolas asked, sounding distinctly like a lost child.

"I am certain of it," Amarth spoke up. "The Valar would not part us again."

"I shall not tell Father," Legolas promised. "Not until we are all together once more."

Mor suddenly grabbed him up in a crushing hug, and Legolas could feel that he was trembling. "Stay out of trouble, baby brother."

"Aye, now that we will be here to save you no longer," Nen added, embracing Legolas in his turn.

"Until next we meet," Los murmured, grasping Legolas's shoulder.

Amarth smiled down at Legolas from atop his horse, trying in vain to hide his growing tears. "Do not be too long in coming, dear brother."

Legolas nodded. "I shall not."

The four elder brothers mounted and wheeled their horses around, not looking back. When they were but specks on the horizon, Legolas sat down and wept.

End of chapter. So, what did you think? Worth the wait? Bet ya didn't see it coming that Nen would be the hero! I think he's my favorite of the four. But that's just the way it worked out. Again, the preview for POTE prequel will be in the next chapter, the epilogue, which I think I shall post on Sunday. Hey! Here's an idea! How about everyone who reads this leaves a review! Sounds good to me. (:

_Ûserg_—a herb of my own invention used to slow bleeding.


	11. Epilogue Together Again

Well, needless to say, I'm rather disappointed that nobody reviewed the last chapter. Perhaps I just need to give it more time. But I won't withhold this chapter any longer, so here it is.

I can't believe it's over! But I can't wait to start posting the prequel! I'll probably take a break, though, until I've at least written a bit more. And I'm planning on co-authoring a Stargate fic with cagedphoenix, so it might be a while before I start posting the prequel. But, at any rate, here's the epilogue.

Princes of the Earth

Chapter 11

Together Again—Epilogue

Legolas carried on alone until he came across Gandalf by sheer chance, the Wizard leading Éomer and his men onto battle at the fortress of Helm's Deep. There they came to the aid of the Rohirrim and the remaining Fellowship, defeating Saruman's army. But Boromir had perished in the battle, defending the failing gates to the last.

The keys of Orthanc were delivered to Gandalf and inside the tower was recovered one of the _palantíri_, along with a few priceless heirlooms of Númenor that had fallen into Saruman's hands over the many long years. Isengard was cleared of the defeated Istar's filth and reclaimed as a possession of Gondor, where it was tended to and eventually made into a beautiful garden under the care of the Ents.

The War of the Ring against Sauron was won as two little Hobbits succeeded in their mission, and hope and laughter were restored to Middle-earth again.

Aragorn went on to claim the kingship of the united kingdom of Gondor and wed Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond, and the White Tree bloomed again.

Gimli was granted lordship over the Glittering Caves of Aglarond, where he started a new colony of Dwarves after helping repair Minas Tirith after the War. Legolas never drugged them.

Legolas, after a few years of governing a small settlement of Elves in Ithilien and helping to heal Gondor of its hurts, returned to Mirkwood, now Eryn Lasgalen, where he remained with his father until news of Aragorn's death a hundred years later. Then he built a grey ship in Ithilien, and departed over the Sea with his great friend, Gimli. He had never breathed a word of his four reclaimed brothers to Thranduil, though the king often noted a marked difference in his Legolas's behavior. No longer was he solemn Elf of before, but now laughed and sang, though he rarely spoke of his great adventure.

It was another hundred years before Thranduil followed him over the Sea. ………

………"Where are you taking me?" Thranduil asked yet again, but Legolas only laughed, not loosening his hands from over his father's eyes.

"Just trust me." Finally the two halted. "We are here. Are you ready?"

"Of course I am. Just remove your hands—" Thranduil pushed Legolas's hands off from over his eyes and stopped short. In front of him stood four golden-haired Elves, all nearly replicas of the other, bursting at the seams with anticipation.

Thranduil took a hesitant step forward, as though afraid that if he moved they would disappear and the dream would end. "Oh, can it be? Is it possible? My sons are returned to me! Oh, let this joy never end!" And he rushed forward, enveloping them all in one huge hug.

Legolas just stood to the side, beaming with joy at his father's happiness, until Lindil reached out and pulled him into the hug.

After a few minutes, Thranduil pulled back, not minding the tears that ran freely down his face, examining them. They all seemed to be exactly as he had last seen them, over three thousand years ago. "What has happened?" was predictably the first question out of his mouth. "Why did you never return?"

"It—it is a rather long story," Telepsîr said.

Thranduil raised his hands. "Well, what are you waiting for? We have all eternity!"

And Legolas smiled at the thought.

THE END

Wow, I can't believe it's over. The end wasn't quite how I had originally planned, but my pencil has a life of its own. I just give it movement.

Well, here's the preview. (I had it posted on my LiveJournal over a week ago.) I honestly don't know when I will begin posting it, because I don't like posting works in progress. (For the exact reason of what happened with POTE—a long delay while I was writing another chapter.)

_Galadriel stood between the beds of the two princes, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. It had been a year since she had watched Telepsîr ride away back to Greenwood—A year of grief and searching in vain for the four princes, who had all disappeared on their way home to Greenwood. Now here were three of them—Telepsîr, Ransûl, and Laurëfin, who the eldest had not yet noticed—found on the borders of her land, changed, with no memory beyond that very day. _

_She sat beside the sleeping Laurëfin, gently stroking his shockingly white hair. He had actually been found with Ransûl the day before, the two having met up along the road and continuing together, even though neither knew whom the other was. _

_The only one of the four who had yet to be found was Lindil. Sighing, Galadriel breathed a prayer to the Valar that the last may be found safely before anything _else_ should happen._

See you all next posting! Everyone review!


End file.
